Don't Say a Word
by Coley Merrin
Summary: In the midst of great danger, Zuko struggles with his desire for Katara, while her mind is clouded with the secrets of her unborn child. Zutara
1. Leading Me to You

**Chapter One**

_"Don't find love, let love find you. That's why it's called falling in love, because you don't force yourself to fall, you just fall." - Unknown_

* * *

He heard the screaming before he had fully registered what the sound, desperate and tortured, was. But as it trailed, before rising again, weaker, his steps quickened. A maid, nearly white with fright, clipped him as she careened around a corner. It was proof of her urgency when she neither addressed him, nor apologized.

"The lady Katara, oh, sir, you must hurry…"

Leaving the frightened maid in his wake, he raced down the short private corridor, his skin chilled. He pushed past the gaggle of maids that had gathered outside of the door to the guest sitting room.

He stopped, frozen by the sight for one long moment, before stepping forward.

The room was silent, though the women stayed. The floor, a pristine white pine, was spattered with droplets of blood, and on it, Katara, unconscious and looking far more like a corpse than the vibrant woman he had seen so briefly earlier.

"What happened?" He knelt at her side, unmindful of the blood. Her tunic along one side was soaked with it. Her hair was wild, disarrayed, her lips bloodless, and a knife in one limp hand. Had that scream come from her? Her arm, a cloth being pressed to a wound by a maid, was bleeding from a long, deep cut down her forearm.

"Who did this to her?" he demanded.

The maid who knelt closest to her shook as she answered, her words tumbled and rushed. "She did, my lord. She was holding the knife when we arrived. She asked for you. She was saying she had to get it out. She had to get it out, or it would kill, and she cut herself. The blood… The blood just came out and she started screaming…"

There was a murmur of agreement from behind him as he cradled the back of Katara's head in his hand.

"Someone send for the healers!"

"It has been done, my lord. They should be here any moment," a voice replied from behind him.

"Get what out?" he wondered, grasping his control around him with finely wound cords.

"Poison, my lord. She said it was poison."

* * *

He stood back, useless, while the two healers who had been called at the personal request of the Fire Lord himself, clucked and fussed over the injured Katara like a couple of old hens. The flow of blood had been staunched, relieving the immediate danger, but she had not woken up. Not from the moment the screaming had stopped until now. The wound had been stitched and wrapped in clean white binding. He would admit to no one but himself that he had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep his composure while he watched the needle slide in and out of her skin. But watch he had. He owed her that much.

After his first couple of questions had been coldly ignored, sometimes not even the Fire Lord frightened the healers, he had resigned himself to watching in case there was something, anything, he could help in. Two maids stood at attention outside the door, just in case.

"She must have a quiet room in which to recover, somewhere close so she can be monitored at all hours."

He stepped forward. "She will have it. We'll put her in the rooms of the Fire Lady. There will be plenty of room."

"That will be fine."

"Why isn't she awake?"

"She has been through quite a trauma. Her body has shut down to protect itself against further damage. If it was a poison, as you say, then there may be damage we don't know of. She may not wake for some time while her body mends. To say nothing of the child. If it lives, it would be beyond our understanding. You say she is a water bender? If she was able to remove the poison that way… She nearly bled too much to save its life, but that would have been the only thing that did."

Zuko's back stiffened when he heard the world "child." She was pregnant? His eyes focused on the gentle slope of her belly. It was not so obvious, if you were not looking, but it was there.

"How far along…?" he asked stiffly.

"Perhaps five, six months."

Five or six months. What had happened in the past half a year that would lead to this? He had been in the South Pole the previous autumn, seven, no, eight months ago, and he hadn't received even the slightest inclination that her having children was an event close on the horizon. How well, though, could he know anyone when he saw them less than twice a year?

Gently, they transported her to the large, lavish room that had been so quickly prepared. The healers left an infusion of herbs, and orders for clear broths and water. A little at a time, they said, and her reflexes might allow her to swallow it without choking her.

He sent the maids from the room to fetch the broth, and when they had left, sat in the chair they had placed beside the bed. She had been cleaned, though she was pale, and her injured left arm stood out like a beacon on top of the dark coverlet. Her necklace lay askew on her neck, and he straightened it, feeling the coolness of her skin. He gripped her right hand, and studied her face. Her cheeks were rounded, the bloom of pregnancy sitting well on her. He allowed himself a glance, no more, at her abdomen.

Katara, with child. His mind could not find an answer for it that he liked, though the role was not one he doubted that she could play.

"We're going to take good care of you," he said, gently squeezing her hand. "Rest and heal, for both of you."

He had slipped out of the chair by the time the maid returned, and he watched only half of the maid, gentle as she was, sitting Katara up and spooning broth, spoon by spoon, as it slid into her, unaware was she was. She would not starve while she healed, at least, he thought. He settled in the chair against the wall while the herbal infusion was given. He was not leaving this night.

* * *

His guards were on high alert, the staff all but roiling with tension. Someone had done this, deliberately, and they knew Zuko was looking.

"I want to know everything that happened that afternoon. Who was where, what they did, what shoes they were wearing. What did they eat for dinner and who did they eat it with? Who is unaccounted for? Who was there that shouldn't have been? The fresher it is in their memories, the more you might find out."

It was unlikely that someone who had poisoned a personal guest of the Fire Lord would be seen if they did not want to be. It was suicide. Unless that person was on the staff, doing what they always did. In which case looking for an anomaly was almost next to useless. But for the moment, it was all he had.

* * *

It had taken nearly two days for any sign of consciousness to surface. During the days, he could not stay with her, and during the nights, he would not stay alone. A maid was always in one corner of the room, while he sat in a chair against the wall and watched. If any of them wondered why the Fire Lord sat in her room, no one questioned his decision. He slept, sometimes deeply, in between visits from the skilled healing assistants. She moaned as they moved her, and his hair stood on end, but they left each time shaking their heads. No change. Her body was still healing.

She did, though, look better. Her lips were no longer bloodless, and her skin had warmed, a sure sign of healing. But still, she lay near silent, jerking as if against some invisible enemy. He ordered her awake, as though will alone could compel her. But he began to believe his wishing had been too strong.

As the second day drew to a close, he sat, eating his dinner as a healer finished spooning broth into her. Strip by strip a second healer unwound the bandage that covered her injured arm. It was an ugly wound on her skin, but it had not become red and angry. She would not lose her arm, at least. It was one less thing to worry about.

Until the screaming started. As they treated her arm, and wrapped it, she began to move, slowly at first. He watched with a cautious eye as they held her to complete their work, but though they did not hurt her, she cried, little mewls of pain, as if they were torturing her.

"NO!" In a waterbender's hands, the basin of water became a weapon, and the two healers were knocked back as Katara sat straight up, her good hand clawing desperately at the wrapped wound. "It has to come out. It has to come out. Have to tell…"

That was when she screamed. It was hard to say which it hurt first… his ears, his gut, or his heart.

He raced the final steps to her, gripping her wrist to keep her from hurting herself, touching her face, her shoulder, anything to let her know someone was with her, his words nearly coming in a stammer.

"It's Zuko, I'm here. It's all right. You're all right. The baby is all right. You're fine. I'm here. You're fine."

"Zuko."

"Yes. I'm here. It's okay," he said as she struggled.

She cried out again as she tried to wrap her injured arm around her stomach. He laid his hand over her stomach for her.

"You're both all right."

"Have to find… Poison. Baby." Her voice got softer as she relaxed.

"You got it out. It's all right now," he soothed, nearly resting his forehead against hers as he supported her.

As her head relaxed back into his hand, he saw what he had been unable to when she had fought against him. Her eyes, though open, were unfocused.

He glanced behind him, and the healers confirmed his fear. It had been a waking dream. She had not truly ever awoke.

It was a nightmare she was to repeat, striking at any time of day. He had been there for most, and he had ordered them to come for him if he was away. His brittle nerves had frayed, but he could soothe her, if only a little. The one time they did not come for him they had drugged her, unable to calm her otherwise. She had been screaming his name.

He left her room for limited periods of time. But he did not leave the family wing after that.

What could he tell the historian now? The week in the life of Zuko. "This week I helped a woman who was injured in my own home, and by someone we don't know. I have been searching for that person, to no avail, and would like to kill them immediately for the harm they have caused. This woman also happens to be someone whom I routinely dream about, in ways not fit for any memoirs, which makes it all the more an embarrassment as I feel like I should be able to control myself now that I am grown."

Which was a joke. Control. When that golden day of adulthood shone, there was no magic porthole or gift of sense and stability than there was the day before. This control process took time to master, more time than anything else. He wondered if he would ever have it, where she was concerned. But no, he could not tell the historian that. Barely any of it was fit for the annals of history, and until the culprit was found, none of it was meant for the ears of an outsider. Everyone, absolutely everyone, was suspect. Everyone except him, because he was sure he hadn't done it, and Katara. Katara, who lay under the power of a sleep more potent than any curse, and relived the horrors of the days before.

* * *

The wardrobe in the room of the Fire Lady, a huge thing made of cherry that was older than his grandfather, had found a place in the hallway. It was a pristine piece of wood-working, and a point of pride and entitlement to have such a fine piece in their collection. In its place stood a desk made of wood younger than he was, fashioned by arguably skilled hands. Its benefit was that it did not take up much more space than the ejected wardrobe, and yet still provided Zuko the flat surface area to keep track of the things he had to do.

It was not that he did not trust his staff. He did, as much as he trusted the sun to rise, and the ocean to wave. But too much trust would lead to burns and death by drowning. No, he did not trust his staff that much. Not when he routinely talked Katara down from heart-pounding panic. By the end of day four, the healers began to worry about the effect the stress might have on the baby. But the baby moved, routinely, and in a seemingly normal way, so there was little to do but watch and wait. They could not drug her more. She had to work her way out of this herself.

It also was known to him that someone here had done this to her. If she had not acted, then it might have been death… if not her, then her child. Someone's hands were bloody, and he wanted those hands to pay.

When they palpated her stomach he watched, as they hmm-ed and told him everything was fine. She was just simply still healing. He had given up on his chair by the wall, sending the maid to a chair in the hallway where she could hear him calling. It freed him to do what he wanted to start with: to sit beside her. If he held her hand, or touched her shoulder, it was merely to reassure himself that she was fine.

If he touched her stomach, it was curiosity. What were the healers feeling for? He pressed a hand to her stomach, in reality barely touching her, and waited. The slope of it was always steeper than he seemed to remember. It seemed oddly disconnected from the Katara in his mind. This strange figure, with a stranger body. It was a mystery to him, though he knew how it worked, but it was a puzzle, an enigma. It was a piece of the reality of life that he had not grasped before. This was a small person. Just as he had, his child would be formed this way. His fingers pressed gently into her flesh, and a tiny thump echoed through them.

He jerked away, freezing, his breath stopping a strangled shout for the maid as his mind raced through a thousand things that he could have just done wrong. Broken something, hurt something, pressed too hard. His hand flexed. It had just been a small bump against him, as if… as if the baby had kicked.

There was a baby in there! He laughed softly. And what a revelation to be having four days later. It was not some kind of tissue that had mistakenly come into existence. It was a child, a child that might have Katara's hair, her eyes, her acerbic tongue. It might even… Have a father. Somewhere. Zuko shook his head to erase the thought.

"I can't keep calling you it," Zuko said. "And "he or she" doesn't really have a good sound. I'll call you… Adara. Little fire. Your mother she…" He looked at Katara, really looked, her serene face, parted lips. Someone's mother. "She wants to meet you. And I do, too."

And strangely enough, he did. She had kicked his hand. She was real. Katara had risked her life to save them both. And there was no other person in this whole palace who truly cared about the outcome of their lives. He dozed, his cheek pressed to Katara's arm, his hand on hers. The baby Adara, a tiny girl creature barely larger than the size of his hand, slept on.


	2. Illusions

He could not live in the room with her, much as he might like

He could not live in the room with her, much as he might like. There was still a nation that required his attention. He set up in the hallway, the dejected-looking wardrobe at his back as he was briefed on the daily crises of money and power. He needed to keep his finger on the pulse, his hand on the vein, in order to know where he stood. Coups and subversions had been based on much less distraction than this. He could function just as well from here. The appearance was of little matter. All but secluding himself with a pregnant –healers gossiped too and he allowed this deliberately – unconscious woman who had been poisoned in his own home… More than one must think he guarded his heir.

He entertained brief and vivid fantasies that she really was carrying his child and had come to tell him so. But no matter what angle he approached it from, it was impossible as the last. She couldn't have conceived his child a full two months after he had left. But it didn't stop him from thinking. Those brief fantasies were the happiest moments he spent beside her bed. It took several calming breaths as he left to quell the irrational anger that someone had done this to her. Someone not him.

One healer believed she was slowly waking. The other wasn't so sure. Both were concerned – the more time that passed, the more dangerous it became.

"People expect me to have infinite wisdom," he murmured, massaging her arm as he had seen the healers do. "Which is why there are advisors. Who don't always give the best advice. Sometimes I think they make it harder. Other times easier."

He found it easy to talk to her, late at night like this. It was not only because she couldn't talk back, but because he could see her, feel her. His thoughts filtered out of him so that even he could understand what he was feeling.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm worrying too much." He slanted a look at her. "This would be a lot easier if you said 'Yes, Zuko, you are worrying too much.'"

He sighed.

"But in this position, I am in more danger of worrying too little. Better to care than not at all? The great wheels of society move more or less on their own. This is why leaders learn from other leaders, to find a way. I saw only my father, and learned what not to be. Learned what I could have been. Perhaps that was the lesson I needed. You would know."

He caressed her palm with his thumb, before pressing her hand to his cheek. Small, capable. Damaged. If his presence alone could protect her, it was enough.

* * *

Zuko went personally to approve any persons wanting to enter the family wing in order to meet with him. He went as far as he had to, to visually identify the person. An advisor here, a treasury official there, and some tedious, annoying things that had to be done in the course of his duty. There were forms to be signed, and plans to approve in order to keep the country running. All necessary, but not always fulfilling. Still, when he had the time to sit back and contemplate on the things he did daily, when he traveled to parts of the country that had been directly affected by the signing of his name, it was affirmation. He was not in it for the glory. He was there by his honor, by the nature of his birth and the declaration of his name. He had been born for this purpose in mind. No, maybe at the time of his birth no one could have known this was where he would stand, but it was still where stood now, and no one could question his right to it. There was a very real part of him that was defiant that he would show his father, do him one better, and excel for just that reason. But it occurred to him that what he was doing was trying to show up a dead man, instead of working to keep a functional, healthy nation. So when he saw the benefit of the people, the good that spread from him and others around him, it was also a balm to that sore place. A balm that assured him that yes, he did also have other, better reasons.

He was reading a progress report on the building of a new healing clinic when a maid notified him of a visitor waiting for him at the guards. He squinted his eyes closed, rubbing them when his vision blurred slightly, before starting down the long hallway.

The court historian. Ah, another tedious task. He waved the man through. Once a week, no matter the time of year or state of Zuko's mind, he came to chronicle the events of the week in book form. He had come once he had discovered that Zuko was unable or unwilling to mark down the events as they went by. If Zuko were forced to admit it, he rather enjoyed their sessions. It gave him another opportunity to gain some perspective on his life. This week… well, this week he still had no idea what exactly he was going to say. The truth was a somewhat fluid thing, and this was a time when he was holding information close and those who had access to that information closer.

"You should keep her door locked," the man said, his eyes full of that very knowledge. Once again, the healers had spread the news.

"What?"

"You should keep the door locked. It's not safe."

"It's the family wing. No one can get in here past the guards."

"Even so. Things have happened here that no one could have imagined."

It was true, and something he considered, but as he had pledged to be here as much as time allowed, he felt he had a good grasp on her safety. He was no ineffectual guard himself, sitting out here as he was. Certainly no one was getting in from out here that he had not handpicked himself. He liked to think that he could hear every sound that came from the room, in case of another nightmare she was unable to wake from. Or even sounds less than that, the movement of the maid's chair, the soft clink of a cup being set down. Sometimes he imagined a quiet voice saying his name, so much so that it nearly became real, until he sat still for several long moments listening for that voice to become a reality instead of a figment of his imagination. She had not woken yet. His life was in limbo until she did. And likely for long after.

* * *

The bigger question was why… why try to harm her? It had not been meant for him. Through methods that were lost on him, they had been able to determine the contents of her cup. In a normal, healthy human woman, in a male, it would be of little danger. In a pregnant woman, its sole danger lay in the ravages done to the uterus. It would cause an almost immediate miscarriage, bloody and painful. The risk to the woman's life lay only in what effects the aborted fetus might have left behind. Uncontrollable bleeding, infertility, all were dangers. The ultimate danger was, of course, death. It could have easily killed her.

Who had known she was pregnant? No one, not even him, had claimed that knowledge. But someone must have. No one would poison an otherwise healthy woman. Had it been because she had been coming to see him? If someone had known, if someone had found out… If they had been unaware that the baby could not been his, and thought that Katara had come to inform him of his impending fatherhood, then there was indeed something darker at work than he had first considered.

The pain she had felt, they said, was not the pain of the self-inflicted cut, or even of the poison sent to harm her baby. It had been her, forcing blood to go in directions it was never meant to go in order to take the tainted blood away from the baby. That had been the excruciating pain that caused those terrible screams. She had tortured herself into a coma in order to save her child. Somehow she must have known. It was more than life and death. It was more than personal.

* * *

He wondered if there had been songs that his mother had sang to him. His memory was dim in those areas. But there must be songs, of fire, of pride. Little songs that told the story of the place of their birth. He had no doubt the Water Tribe had their own as well. Tales of survival, ice and snow. Pride in their place and their people. Quieting and soothing a fretful child. He wished he knew them. He would not sing them… Singing was something he avoided quite at all costs.

"Hello, Adara."

He touched her through the thin blanket, the rise of her stomach. He felt oddly as though he were doing something forbidden. As if it were a privilege that was not his to take. But it was not something that he could resist. If only he and an unborn baby were aware of his transgression, then there was no harm in it.

"My name is Zuko," he said, watching his fingers trace small circles against the blanket. "You're in the Fire Nation, my nation. You weren't made here. Where you come from it's cold, and white. You probably don't know what cold is yet. They'll wrap you in blue when you are born… It's a symbol of the world that created you. Water, ice… there would be nothing without it. Presented to the moon, another child of the water. Here… here they would wrap you in red, for the sun, for fire. If you were mine… it would be red, and gold. The city would ring with news of a child of the Fire Lord, and everyone would gather at the first sunrise after your birth, to watch the sun rise on the face of the child who might be the next ruler. I don't remember seeing a ceremony, though I loved to hear stories of rulers past, Adara, born of fire. Katara…you mother may not call you that, so don't be too disappointed, all right? She will name you for who you will be. Not for who…"

He frowned. Not for who he wished she was. He stood, retreated to his desk. Perhaps there were things about him that he didn't even know. But it would be interesting to find out. Even if the road to it was littered with disappointment and dreams that would never be reality.

Adara was not his. And he could not imagine inducing Katara to stay in the Fire Nation.

But to the child inside her, he was already committed. It was something inexplicable to him, something no one could ever explain. But he knew with a solemn certainty that had not struck him in some time. Not since six months ago, when he had departed the Fire Nation ship, and had seen Katara's face.

* * *

He had missed her, had been his revelation when he saw the smile lighting her face when he had visited the South Pole. It was hard to rationalize how, when seeing someone twice a year at most, that missing could tumble down on his shoulders in one terrible second. She gave him her hand, and he took it. And realized almost immediately that he didn't want to let it go. So he did…or else a scene would have been made in front of a group of curious-eyed villagers and bored soldiers. How many years had that been happening, he wondered. The casual touch of a hand in friendship. It had been hard to come by as a boy, but easier. A child, even a prince, received a touch with far more ease from those bound to his care. But as a young man, and as Fire Lord, the people who touched him did so only by invitation. How it had charmed him, the day before his coronation, when she had stood beside him and pressed the length of her arm to his. Subtle, almost accidental if someone had been looking. But it hadn't been an accident, just as her extending her hand to him – first – hadn't been one then.

But he had missed her. Her laugh, her voice. She ran her household with what aspired to be an iron fist, and he had often thought that he could take lessons. She would have laughed at that, too.

It had not been primarily a social visit, but one that celebrated the connection made between Fire Nation and Water Tribes. Dignitaries from both had gathered at the more sparsely populated South Pole, hosted by her father. No one had expected the Fire Lord himself to attend. He took joy in proving people wrong. The long day of meetings and a feast had drained him, and at Hakoda's invitation, he had relaxed with the men, and their sweetened liquor. He hadn't asked its contents, only knowing that it went down smoothly, and in his surroundings, seemed to tint the edges of his vision blue.

The rest of the night he remembered only vaguely. He had stood to leave before he embarrassed himself by speaking indiscriminately or worse. His bed had been laid in thick, dense black fur, and he thought of nothing but retreating to it. How pretty she had been, Katara, in a dress she had made for the day. He feared he had told her so when she had taken his hand and led him to his room. He didn't remember how she had found him, or if he had found her, only that the thick curtain falling behind her back as she left him had been the one thing he regretted most.

He dreamed.

"_Zuko," she whispered, her lips still moist from his. He reached for her in a haze, the warmth of her skin burning him, as something inside of him turned giddy. He could do this. He could do anything. _

_She rose over him, her long and waving hair dripping down against his chest. She was so beautiful. And his. He rose onto his elbows to taste her again…_

He woke, his heart thundering in his chest as he sat up straight in his desk chair. It was that dream, again. The first time he had woken from it, he had thought it was a one time event. As he had sailed home from that visit, the scent of her, the look of her, had followed him. He had fallen asleep thinking of her, and had dreamed, a vivid dream, details so clear, feelings so peculiarly real. Weeks had gone by. But he had dreamed again and again. Not quite the same, not different. He walked around with pieces of the dream in his head. But instead of her in his black furs, he saw her on white, the bright, clean pelt illuminating her. Now, she was in the room with him, and still his mind insisted on tormenting him.

But if he was relaxing enough to dream instead of receiving gut-clenching nightmares, then he must believe she was mending.

As soon as his body would allow it, he moved to her side. Her face was tense as he studied it, which was unusual. Air flooded his lungs in time to the flutter of her lashes. Pale blue eyes searched the ceiling above her before finding his face.

"Zuko."


	3. The Royal Baths

"Zuko."

He felt the smile lift the corners of his mouth. "Hey. Welcome back. You're okay."

He bent to stroke her face, seeing the questions, the uncertainty in her eyes. But she was awake.

He touched the hand of her injured arm and paused. Her skin all but glowed against his hand. It was too warm.

The healers had come doubly fast at his order. It had been less than five minutes from her waking that both healers had come rushing into the room. She had barely spoken, accepting his help when he offered her the water that they kept at her bedside. She looked to him when the healers entered, wary of the unfamiliar men, her grip tightening on his hand. He allowed her that luxury. He was grateful for it.

"Who are they?"

"The royal healers. They've been caring for you."

"The baby. Zuko, the baby…"

"The baby is fine. They said the baby is fine. You saved both of you."

The healers urged her, gently under Zuko's staring eyes, to tell them how she was feeling. The fog in her mind seemed to lift as the minutes passed, responding with better clarity. They checked the baby first, at her insistence, and moved to her arm. He brought his free hand to cover the back of hers as they unwound the bandages. Along the neat row of stitches, the skin that was taught was pale, but along the bottom edge of the wound was a line of puffy red. Infection.

She sighed in obvious relief and the healers looked at her, then at Zuko, in concern. He could read their worry for her state of mind easily.

"I can heal that," she said, softly still, to Zuko. "I just need water. Do you have a pool?"

"Out of the question," the healer closest to Zuko said. "I'm sorry, but the most important thing for you now is to rest. Indiscriminate movement could put the child at risk. It's far too soon."

"It's not indiscriminate movement," she insisted. "If I can't heal my arm, it could get worse. Can you heal this? Can you tell me how deeply it is infected? That could put the child at risk as well. A basin, a bowl. Anything."

Using Zuko as leverage, she attempted to sit, but sank back almost immediately.

"What's wrong?" he demanded.

"The room is spinning," she answered, her voice thick.

"There, you see? Absolutely no movement from this bed. And I don't understand healing through bending, but that seems much too strenuous as well. We would be better off to open the wound and attempt to drain it."

"No! No, you can't do that. You'll…" She stopped, breathed. Her eyes sought Zuko's. There was a plea there that he had to answer.

"I'll take her to the royal bathing room. She won't have to walk, and the water will be warm and help her to fight the infection. She's a waterbender. Doing a little to help the wound won't hurt her. She'll know when to stop. She won't endanger her baby."

"I really must protest…"

"Then leave the room if you don't want to see it." His patience for the two men had ended.

He waited until they had shuffled out.

"How would you like to see the bathing room of kings?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Do you bathe there too?"

"At least once a year as is my privilege," he said, and was gratified by her chuckle. "If I hurt you, tell me. Okay?"

"It's all right."

"If you pass out, I'll never speak to you again."

She squeezed his hand. "I'll do my best."

He waited until she got her arm around his neck before trying his best to lift her gently. To soothe his pride, he knew she was not large, but he was also not accustomed to lifting fully grown women who were essentially dead weight. Who were of any weight. She was able to rest her head against his shoulder as they came to some form of equilibrium.

"Still okay?"

The small sound she made, somewhere between a whimper and a moan, seemed to be in the affirmative. At least she was still conscious.

It was a short distance to the bathing rooms. But he was all too aware of her in his arms.

The baths had a fairly typical arrangement, wide areas of water in tile-lined pools, a light steam rising from the hotter of the heated waters. Along the pool's longer edges were submerged benches for relaxing. It was there he intended to take her where the water was warm, but not hot. He could not let her go alone, and so they went together. Every step he prayed for balance. The stone was roughened at the entry steps, and so his footing was sure. No one wanted to see the Fire Lord dead due to an unfortunate slip in the bath. She sighed as the water lapped at her toes, and arched against him as it rose up her legs and back. Finally he had settled, letting her turn until she could rest her back against him, cradled against him, his arms around her. She raised her good arm, and the water rose with it.

"Show off," he teased.

"Are you drowning back there yet, firebender?"

"As if I could."

Had she realized, as he had almost immediately, that his arms, his hands, circled around her abdomen? For this, this she was now awake, and that sense of being somewhere he had no permission to be sat strongly on him. But he was not immune to his proximity to her, and he saw all too well how the waters made the loose, long tunic she has been dressed in cling to her belly and breasts. He did not mean to look, not exactly. But it was a new angle on a fascinating puzzle, that he happened to have his hands on. On part of, at least. But she seemed thoroughly at ease, her injured arm blue with the healing waters.

Against his forearm he felt the undeniable thump of a baby kick. He jumped, startled, and she oofed as they settled back into place.

"She's kicking," Katara said, turning her face so he could see her profile. "She must like you."

"That or she's happy you're awake."

"No," she said, placing her hand alongside his. "I think I'm right."

"How are you feeling?"

"Relaxed," she said with a sigh, letting her head drop back onto his shoulder. "A lot less dizzy."

"I think the dizzy is normal… You've been lying down for the last week."

"How do you lose a week of time… I don't… I have a vague sense that time went by, but I can't remember anything about. I know I was coming here, to the Fire Nation, but I don't remember arriving."

He soothed her stomach almost absently. "Give it time. Your body needed time to heal. Your mind might as well."

The words were all but torn from his mouth. "Do you know who the father is?"

Her head jerked to the side and he saw the bright panic in her eyes. Words that wouldn't come. "Oh, Zuko."

"It's okay," he said, holding her. "It's okay."

But it wasn't okay. He hated himself, that something that brought her pain gave him relief. For just a little while, it was knowledge he didn't have to live with. He could feel the tension returning to her body.

He wouldn't ask her again.

"Tell me what happened?"

He froze. "Maybe we should wait until you've rested a little more…"

With his help she turned her shoulder leaning heavily against his chest. Her face, awake, close, was determined. He sighed. She didn't have to say a word to let him know that she would ask again, until she was exhausted, angry, or he had given in. And the first two he wanted to avoid.

"When I got to you, you had already passed out. You had sliced open your arm to release a poison that had gotten into your blood. It clearly hurt you. The effort, the result. I don't know. You were screaming, and then… you weren't. And we couldn't wake you."

"Poison?"

"It was…" He paused. "It would have caused you to miscarry."

Her mouth dropped open and her eyes darkened. "Then… It would have done nothing to me… Just to me."

"No. Not that we know of."

"Who would want to do that? Why?"

"I don't know." He didn't want to tell her the reason he suspected, that it may have had something to do with him, of his suspected connection. "But we're looking into it. No one that has been around you was around you that day. I'm doing everything I can. I'm sorry that it happened here. I couldn't have forgiven myself if…"

She raised her injured arm. The red had retreated, leaving a line of healing skin.

"Bad things happen. Your people may think so, but you're not a god. You stayed with me, didn't you? I don't remember, but somehow… I have a feeling."

"I couldn't help…"

His head whipped around at a sound. A maid bobbed a curtsy when she noticed his attention.

"The healers respectfully requested that the lady be returned as soon as possible for her rest, Fire Lord."

"Tell them we'll be there shortly."

Neither of them missed the curious look that was cast over them that the maid could neither hide nor help before she left.

Her eyes widened as she looked at him. "I'm not doing your reputation any favors."

"Let me worry about my reputation."

Once again his adrenaline peaked when her eyes began to glimmer. She let her head drift down against his shoulder. "Thank you."

"Just get better," he said gruffly. "That's thanks enough."

As she leaned into him, he stood while the water streamed down from them. She was heavier in his arms for that moment, before she bent the water back into the pool. But his heart was lighter.

* * *

He could feel the displeasure of the healers, but could not bring himself to care, not when her arm looked so much better before it was swathed again in bandages. He stayed, though it cost him, while they treated her, fussed. He would not let them bully her until she was strong enough to bully them back. Even the short trip had exhausted her, and only his station in life kept them from chastising him for his actions. The water had restored her, even as her actions had tired her. It was a good tired. Her body could use its resources now to its best advantage. His fingertips brushed hers lightly as they worked, and she curled a finger around his, her eyes closed as they finished.

"Are you staying?" she asked sleepily.

"I won't be far," he promised. "Sleep. Perhaps tomorrow you can return to the water."

It was unlikely, unless it was necessary, but it made her smile.

When she was asleep, deeply, he left, leaving the wing for the only thing that could compel him away. He wound his way through corridors, lighted dimly, the fire that was ever present only a distant thought. At the end of this journey waited his staff, handpicked for situations such as these. He had left nothing to chance. Absolutely nothing. In this, everyone was suspect, from the very top, to the very lowest servant. And that too was why he had been unwilling to leave her. It was why she lay sleeping, guarded, until he could hurry back. He would not be gone long.

He questioned the men, the women, for what they knew, who they had spoken to, what thoughts they had. He questioned them calmly, coolly. If they hadn't known him, they might have missed his investment in the outcome. Because they knew him, they knew that control was only a mask, one that had been hard fought for in a temperament once called tempestuous. He would not throw objects or threaten lives. Not yet.

But he did want to know why this was done, and who had done it. He wanted to know who might have had the opportunity to know of Katara's pregnancy. He could not believe it was an accident, a "just in case." It was too deliberate, too correct. When her brother arrived, he would be brought here as well, to give any knowledge he might have. Anyone who might know, anyone who had been to or was from the South Pole, anyone who saw Katara the day she arrived. He anticipated seeing the face of the person responsible. It burned in him. The muscles in his sides shook with it. His smile was blade sharp as he awaited their answers. If there were none, they would look harder. But he knew there would be answers, he could feel it, just as he could feel the call to return to Katara's side before she woke. He would push until they had found the one who dared do this. They would get a trial as any criminal. He pressed his hands together. They would die like one.


	4. All I Need

The vase of flowers was a discreet addition to the room. He refused to meet her eyes for a full hour after the maid deposited it on the low bedside table, his focus on the papers on the desk even as they exchanged small talk. The flowers, he knew, though he didn't look at those either, were a cheerful if eclectic mix, tall blue irises, bright faced daisies, and flowers of deep red that ringed the edge of the vase. If the vase had been bigger, he might have been tempted to drown himself in it. The hole he was digging for himself was not getting any shallower.

They had allowed her to sit up while she ate, had brought her real food when she fought for the privilege.

"Zuko?"

He glanced up, expecting to see her preparing to lay back and rest. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed, her hands grasping the edge of the mattress as she stared down at the floor while her toes swung several inches from the finely woven rug. He leapt to his feet.

"What are you doing?"

"I want to stand. To try walking… just to your chair and back. Please."

He knew what asking must have cost her. To be unable even to stand without help… No, he figured she could stand. She could likely even walk. But it was concern for her child that had her asking for assistance. Just in case her strength gave out… Just in case.

He could feel his pulse pounding in his temples as he reached for her. His eyes swept down her face, lingering on her mouth that was so close, so tempting. He was a wretched human being to want her this way, when all she expected from him was his help. But when he was close enough to smell her, he could almost taste her. His hands smoothed over her lower back and looked up to find her studying him as well. His stomach clutched as their eyes linked. Her arms curved the rest of the way around his shoulders as her cheek skimmed his.

"I hate feeling weak," she whispered.

"You won't be for long."

In tandem their arms tightened as they stood. For a few seconds they stood, swaying, as if locked in a dance. He didn't say anything, waiting for her to get her balance and feel all she had to feel after not standing for over a week. He felt her chin on the edge of his shoulder as she looked down.

"When did I get so tall?"

His startled laugh was hidden in a cough.

Her hands slid down his arms as she got a feel for her own balance. He supported her as she moved, a corner of his mind being pushed aside, the corner that had enjoyed holding her against him.

Her first tentative step was capped by a heartfelt sigh that had him tensing.

"My head feels made of moss," she said, giving him a smile. "But I think gravity loses today."

They made a slow journey around the adjacent chair, one that had him on high alert for any changes in her balance, any sign of pain.

"Clearly it's going to take a little longer for me to bounce back," she said, beginning to look a little wan. "Don't you have anything better to do than keep an eye on me? Mouths to feed? Squabbles to stop?"

"No. Maybe," he conceded. "But a good leader learns to delegate."

Together, they eased her back until she sat safely on the mattress.

"Don't delegate too much. I don't want to have to get out of this bed and have to fix a country too."

"I've got my eyes open. I'm taking care. Trust me. You worry about you and your baby, I'll worry about mine."

His manly pride winced as he realized he'd just compared the Fire Nation to a child. At least he hadn't implied he was pregnant with it. Barely.

"I have to get stronger. Exercise, every day," she said, clearly tossing away any advice the healers had given.

"But the baby… What about what the healers said? They've treated the royal women."

"Then the royal women clearly had other women to tell them what is best. If I can't stand on my own two feet and circle the room, how can I possibly be fit to survive hours of labor?"

"But not today," she said, squeezing his hand. His panicked glance at her stomach had clearly not been as covert as he had thought. "I think… I think I'll rest a while now. Two laps next time."

When he left her, she was curled on her side, relaxed in sleep. He touched her hair gently before he left. He knew the scent of that hair, knew the feel of it, thick between in fingers. Knew it, as he only could in dreams.

He carried the feel of her body against his with him through the day. She was carrying another man's child, and he was lusting after her obviously pregnant body. Yes, there was something clearly wrong with him.

* * *

Chasing down the trail of a criminal was like finding the way through a maze in the dark, and without the benefit of touch. Had they been in this place before? Did it look the same as the last turn? He looked for frustration on the faces of the ones he was depending on to chase this down. He saw none, which gratified him. Frustration meant desperation, and that meant sloppy. They could not afford sloppy.

Even as he saw Katara improving, the niggling feeling of unease stayed with him. It did not take a genius to assume that this was not over. The initial plan had failed, and Zuko had kept tight control over who got in and who didn't. They looked hard at the maids, the healers, that made it through that line. He was not complacent in thinking that the people he had chosen to look after her were innocent. Complacency now could kill. The danger, in fact, had increased. They had given her a substance that would only have harmed the baby. Now… Now the danger was that if they attempted the same method, poison, that it would be something that harmed not only the baby, but also Katara herself. And if she were not as aware, as strong, as able, the results would be very, very different.

In dreams, he felt the sweet insistence of her mouth, her fingers in his hair, against his face. He groaned, gripping her hips as he flipped them, her hips, her body cradling him, her skin warm and close. Her thighs came up to wrap around his hips and he nearly whimpered, feeling at once lost and empowered. She was open to him, and he was powerless to stop. It was glory, heat, and tight and wet. Every fragment of his mind that he had laid tenuous claim to faded.

Her eyes were lidded and deep, and he drowned in them and found home.

He woke, her name on his lips. He shuddered, gripping the edge of the chair to regain his sense of up and down. How many times must he dream before he paid his penance? The dream wrapped him up in its sensations every bit as the touch of her hand did in real life. She was blissfully unaware of his mind's betrayal, cozily wrapped around a pillow while her body rested and mind healed.

He was beginning to believe that there was no healing for him, not while he was near her every day. The dream had been coming with regular, wrenching frequency since she had woken. The sight of her triggered something deep in him that he had been pushing toward dormant. He knew he wanted her, his body told him in no uncertain terms while he was awake. If there was a hidden message in the dream beyond that, he wasn't sure what it was.

* * *

He had settled in to sign papers and review reports several afternoons later. He had brought books from his own collection, knowing Katara would not be sleeping nearly as much. Watching him puzzle over official paperwork was not any way to keep a mind occupied, he thought. And she was far from well enough to leave the room, even if he had a firm handle on who exactly it was that was putting her in danger.

When a knock sounded on the door, they both called out "come in," a chorus that put a grin on her face. It merely put a thought in his, a thought of how homey and natural a sound that a duo of voices raised in welcome was. Even if it was imagined. He was pleased to see his uncle's face peer around the edge of the door.

"Uncle! Come in," he said, rising to meet the older man. He was the only person the guards would have let through on sight. Iroh patted his shoulder in greeting, but it was clear that he wasn't there to see Zuko. Katara's face had brightened at this diversion from the monotony of being weak and bed-bound.

"I hear congratulations are in order. Who's the lucky fellow?" Katara's eyes shuttered at the question.

"What brings you here, Uncle?" Zuko cut in hastily, stepping closer to Katara. He cursed himself at the banal question. He knew why Iroh had come, knew why he hadn't come before as he had been away. But anything to draw attention away from the question Zuko had already blundered in asking. If she didn't know, if she couldn't say…

"I wanted to see for myself how you were doing," Iroh said, ignoring that Zuko had asked the question but taking his hint. "How are you feeling?"

"Less like I had a mountain fall on me," she said, a smile creeping back to her face as she looked between them. "No races for me, yet. Zuko…" Her eyes were soft as they met his. "Has been watching over me."

"As well he should. You deserve to have someone wait on you. You tell me if he starts doing a poor job, okay?" he said with a wink. "He's not too old for a scold."

Zuko could have groaned but it brought a dimple to her cheek.

"I shouldn't stay too long and tire you. I'll come back again soon. You are looking good, my dear," he said, giving her hand a genial pat. "There is nothing so pretty as a woman in bloom. Don't you agree, nephew?"

"Er."

"Thank you for visiting, General Iroh."

"Take good care of her!" Iroh said as he sailed cheerfully out of the room.

Momentarily stymied, he could do little but shrug. Her eyes danced with humor. How he wanted to kiss those smiling lips, and watch that glitter darken and turn. He wanted her to want him, and there was little to no chance of that at all. Added to the fact that there might be someone waiting for her back at the South Pole, the bastard who had let her leave pregnant and alone, who had not once wrote to inquire after her. He could not force himself to ask her father or brother the identity of her child. When Sokka arrived, if he had the information then, so be it. If the man himself arrived with Sokka… It was the coward's way out to plan a state trip immediately after. Possibly not fair to Katara herself. But his place would not be beside her. He was a stand-in. A usurper. For the sake of their friendship and his sanity, he would have to take himself far away. To see another man touching her, touching her child… The very thought sent him to his feet, startling her in his abruptness.

"I'm sure he didn't mean to upset you," she said.

It took him a long moment that she spoke of his uncle, and not the nameless, faceless man that he hated before ever meeting.

"He didn't. I just… was thinking. Want to go for a short walk?"

She agreed readily, accepting his offered arm to help her stand. She could walk more freely now, though the healers frowned, and barely needed any assistance at all. In another week, she wouldn't need him to steady her.

It might be less time than that before she didn't need him at all.


	5. In Came the Rain

They had begun interrogations nearly a week previous, before news of Katara's pregnancy had spread, before she had woken. The wheels had gone into motion almost immediately. One of the first persons to be questioned had be the lady Mai, now imminently wed to one of his top advisors. She had been one of those present at the celebration at the South Pole.

They had questioned her for what seemed like hours, never mentioning Katara's pregnancy, looking for the slip-up that would mean guilt. But they had found nothing. She was by all appearances happy. But she was genuinely shocked when they strategically told her of Katara's condition. It was her status and her connection that made Zuko inclined to admit her. She stood just inside the door of Katara's chamber, as he had already begun to consider it, and watched Katara in her deep sleep. He knew what she saw there, a woman looking tiny against the expanse of the bed. He knew the impact of that.

"Is the baby yours?"

"No."

"But whoever did this must think so."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too." He had turned to her. "Tell me you know of no one who would do this."

"No," she said slowly. "I know of no one who would hurt Katara."

He had sighed. It was too easy.

"And you ask me because I had been there, at the South Pole. Then you will have several families to interview."

"We've already begun."

"I hope she regains her health. But, Zuko, if you wanted to avoid rumors, you would not have put her here, in your mother's room."

"There would have been rumors anyway. Here, I can protect her. I owe her that."

"You might owe her that protection the rest of her life, depending on what people believe."

"If she walks out of here with a bouncing baby waterbender, who are they going to believe? Who'd be upset then?"

He would be, he remembered thinking, as he closed the door on that memory. He would be very upset. He was now, and there wasn't even a baby yet to consider much less the thought of her leaving.

But the baby's mother… He studied her from his relative height next to the bed. She all but vibrated with the need to _do_ something. If the healers expected her to stay in bed much longer, for extended periods of time, then they were going to have to get proactive about their methods of threats and orders.

Most of that worry he left to the healers. The proof was in what he saw. That she felt well enough, or believed she did, to get up, then it was enough to have him mentally pumping his fists in victory.

* * *

Her need for activity had led them again to the baths. This time, however, their positions were different. She, wrapped in a robe, was quite contentedly walking beside him, with not a hand to assist her. That accomplishment all but radiated off of her, even if it was a short and stress-free journey. She spread her arms wide as they entered, as though she could absorb the steam around them right into her.

He watched her shimmy in glee toward the pool as he tossed her robe over a rod. He had to all but run to catch up with her, in her tunic and loose pants, before she walked in on her own power. But she allowed him his help, gripping his arm tightly as she sank into the coolest of the pools, barely above lukewarm. He sank to his knees on the tile, intending to sit beside her out of the water.

"If I were that type of girl I'd ask you to come in just in case I get dizzy. But we both know that's not the case… But it would be nice."

"I'll be right here."

She threaded her fingers through his, and he mentally sighed. If she asked him to bark like a seal, he would probably find a reason to do so. She wanted someone beside her. And so he found himself stripping away his outer clothing and dropping down into the deeper part of the pool itself.

He bobbed down into the water, hearing the rushing sound fill him as he shook his head, his hair fanning out like a messy cloud around him. When he came up out of the water, it had draped itself all over his face like clumpy, black ivy, and gained him the laugh that he had been aiming for. He made a show of groping for the edge of the pool, his vision half impaired, but nowhere near enough for this. It was worth it, for her laughter, for the guiding of her hands against his arm as she helped him sit beside her. Her laughter released his, and he grinned at her as he swept his hair back with both hands.

"You looked like some kind of monster coming up."

"Apparently a very friendly one."

"A smart one. Laying in wait." She sighed, let her head drift back. "This is paradise."

"Paradise is a bathing room?"

"You have no idea. In here, I feel weightless."

"You aren't that heavy."

"That's a very kind thing to say, and completely untrue. I may have been out of it, but I still remember you picking me up. It wasn't that easy."

"Now you're insulting both of us."

His eyes nearly crossed before the large bubble she sent his way popped against the end of his nose.

She was so much more willing to touch, he thought with amazement, as with her body she asked for a hug. It was pure, physical contentment, a reassurance that she was well and she was near. If it was to her any fraction of what it was to him, then he was happy to answer her need. He didn't want to imagine how alone she must feel. Strong and resilient as she was, her need for people was great. He could only do what he could to try and fill it. She whispered thank you, thank you against his neck, but he did not respond. He barely deserved her thanks. He let his hands linger as she leaned away, trying to add comfort. But for a long, shimmering moment their faces were aligned, and in her eyes he found the deep and desperate pull within him just to lean forward, to taste her lips. Just for a moment. It would be enough, and it would be nothing. His gaze darted to her shoulder, where his thumb twitched against her collar bone like an annoyed cat's tail. This was what his control had come to.

If she had said his name… He groaned, and let himself sink down further under the pretense of relaxing, until he could rest his head against the tiled edge. They rested together in companionable, if not tense, silence.

* * *

Another week had passed without any negative events. He could still see her face, flushed with pleasure when she demonstrated her ability to stand from a chair. Though she acknowledged that it would get harder, the longer time went on.

It was not something that you could see, exactly, the growing. Certainly it would be no mystery that she was expecting. But though she had been round at her arrival, her illness had driven all thoughts of analysis from his head. But as he watched her putter around the room, doing little other than studying the hangings on the wall and straightening the flowers vase, he had time to contemplate. She sent rather baleful looks in his direction, as if he were her jailer. In reality, he guessed he was. The hallways and balconies were not stimulating walking arenas, but they were safe. He was the closest person to be mad at, and that was fine. She was safe. A maid walked with her every day. He had taken himself away, somewhat. After the incident in the bath, he was no longer certain of his control. And that was a wall he needed to have firmly in place. She was carrying another man's child, a man she might love. And it was not his place.

But as she wandered past, he emerged from the maze of his mind and stared at her stomach. Was he imagining….

"You've grown," he blurted out.

She glanced down, clearly amused. "Babies grow. Women balloon."

"So quickly. It seems," he amended hastily.

She forced air into her cheeks before making a popping sound. "So long as it stays where it should. I'm behind, really… Barely being able to eat for a week."

"Is it usually that… immediate?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes it looks like a woman's just gained some extra weight, and a week passes and it looks like she's swallowed a penguin."

She held her hands out even further in front of her in example and his brain struggled to supply an image.

"Will you…?"

"Not likely. At this point, I'm more likely to go sideways than out. The body is a strange thing."

He didn't know about that. He thought he understood his body pretty well. It was only when he looked at her that things got mysterious. Mentally he tried to compare the slender yet curvy woman to this one, with her increasingly awkward gait, burgeoning belly, heavy breasts and rounded face. He wanted to pull her into his lap and run his hands slowly over her skin, experience every one of those frightening and fascinating changes.

Sometimes, and they were good times, she would take his hand and press it to her stomach. Kicks and flutters against his hand. He had to fight to stay in reality in those times. Not his child, not his woman. Not his feelings. Not even when she lifted her tunic one day exposing a part of her stomach to him. There, where it should be even and curved, he could see where a tiny foot pressed out against her skin, raising it, almost unbelievably. It was so bizarre, it seemed like it should be gross. And thought it sent his stomach into tangled knots, it wasn't.

The healers told her she was doing well, and that in two months she would have a baby. She had ceased arguing with them, her lips merely curving as they spoke. He was never sure what was going through her head in those times, and she never said.

He did his best to stay on her good side. It didn't always work, especially when she was feeling particularly confined, or cranky, or, he figured, pregnant. He couldn't imagine how he would feel to have an extra person somersaulting inside him.

* * *

Sokka, to his relief and worry, arrived alone. The fact that no man had shown up to claim her meant that he, Zuko, could stay just a little longer. But in Sokka's mind might lay the answer that he honestly wanted no part of.

He planted himself on the route that he knew Sokka would be led through. He would intercept him personally, filling him in before taking him to Katara. And asking him those questions before the question festered in his mind from being turned over and over.

He spotted Sokka immediately, the tall figure striding purposefully behind the scurrying servant. With a discreet gesture, Zuko sent the servant back, leaving him alone with the Water Tribe man. Sokka came to a stop, pulling himself to his full height. Zuko merely angled his head. He might not be quite as tall, but the look of haughty disdain came as second nature to him and had quelled men taller than Sokka, even if it wasn't his intention.

The grimness in Sokka's eyes faded a bit as he seemed to realized he was indeed dealing with Zuko.

"My sister?"

"Doing much better. Still a little weak, but improving." He gestured toward the hall to show Sokka the way.

"The baby is fine as well."

"What are you talking about?" Sokka shook his head as he turned away. "She's not pregnant."

"Yes," Zuko said firmly. "She is."

It made Sokka turn back to him with a frown.

"Who? How?"

Sokka was suspicious, and he couldn't blame him. He held up his hands in a show if innocence.

"I was hoping you knew. She… The trauma of it was hard on her. We think she's blocked out almost everything to do with the baby. Including the father."

"And she was pregnant when she got here?"

"Since before she left the South Pole."

Sokka's eyes blanked at he wracked his memory. "Who the…" He pressed his fingers to his forehead. "I don't know. She didn't say anything. Not a thing. But that's Katara, Miss Independent. Just get on a ship and sail away to have a baby in the Fire Nation. Are you _sure_…"

"Much as one might think I can do anything, not even the Fire Lord can get someone pregnant from thousands of miles away."

Sokka sneered. "I wouldn't put it past you. And she… wants the baby?"

Zuko sighed as he walked. "Yes. She nearly killed herself trying to save it, the baby."

"I would have enjoyed beating you up."

"One free shot, and no more. Don't think I've forgotten."

"And she's okay?'

"She's getting better." Zuko gestured to the door. "She's strong. But you don't need me to tell you that."

He waited in the hallway when Sokka went in. He heard the initial shouting, frustration pressed by fear, but it lasted only a few moments. He knew that Sokka could not stay mad long, not when he saw his baby sister heavy with child, the evidence of her brush with death still readily apparent on her arm. He heard the low murmurs, could easily imagine the embrace. And, eyes closed, struggled to be content with his place.


	6. Evasion

It became less and less practical to hold meetings in the hallway. In deference to her health, he moved his meetings back to his original office. But his work, he wanted closer. To the chagrin of the servants, some of which had served in this wing even from before his father's birth, he emptied the storage room directly opposite Katara's room. It had been less storage in recent years, and more a shrine to Fire Ladies past, of their eccentricities and favored objects. It smelled like the musty museum it had become. He thought to mollify them by assuring them a place would be found for the objects with the rest of the relics of the family, but they had spirited away boxes for return to the room when he relinquished it. It was not, he was informed, something for the Fire Lord to meddle with. It was a place for his lady to connect with women who had completed her duties before her. He understood that… Though the scathing looks had amused him.

But from here, he could watch her door when he was not busy. Brood on it, was more the case. She needed her space, especially now that she was better But he could well imagine her behind that door, luminescent in the light from the window. She might be stitching tiny clothes, clothes she had been assured they would be glad to provide. But these were things a child of the water tribes would wear. Things he could imagine that she created because she was unable to see her child born at her home. It was all she could provide for her baby, this connection to her place.

Her hand was capable of cleaning and preparing a fish, a meal. It was able to nurture and heal. It was able to hurt and kill. He let his eyes drift closed as he remembered her moving with the water, graceful and smooth as she took something volatile and mastered it. His cheeks reddened as he redressed her in his mind, in simple Fire Nation clothes that he found so attractive on her.

When she had been unconscious, he had taken her hand in his, pressing her palm to his opposite. One by one he twined their fingers together, until her fingers curved limply over the bank of his hand.

"If you were awake," he had said, "you might be breaking my hand into a hundred pieces right now. If you didn't… I don't think I'd be sitting here quite so easily."

His palm had been a little damp at the thought, as he could imagine her peering at him and wondering why he had pressed their hands together.

"Because sometimes," he had said, answering her unspoken question, "the touch of a willing hand is worth more than can ever be explained. Somehow, you understand that."

But to an extent, he could explain how the touch of her hand made him feel. And it was not something he was sure that he would say out loud, not even while she was unconscious.

He ached in a way he did not understand to hold her. It was so much more, he thought, that a simple longing, and it was one that was harder to be filled. It was not something he could claim or bottle. There was an empty space beside him. One no advisor could fill. He had come aware of it slowly, like a man waking to find a limb missing after battle. He had always assumed he would come of age, be presented with the correct political choice of wife, marry and produce a couple of acceptable children whose lives he would watch from the shadows. It was what he expected. It was what he had known. But it was not now entirely what he thought he needed.

He imagined what it must be like, for a man to know that her hand was the right hand of his. In her was a most precious resource. The love of her people and her place, the knowledge of generations, and the ability to bend what was essentially their world. People might call her lowly born, her blood not as true as his, but he thought her more worthy than any princess. To steal her from her people would be like stealing the full measure of the Fire Nation treasury and hiding it in a pocket. Though, he conceded, he might be a bit biased. But of her worth he was certain.

It just would not be for him.

He had allowed himself too many liberties during her illness. From staying near her, to touching her indiscriminately, to allowing his mind to wander. Dreams, those he could not control, but the flights of fancy? He could have easily found a way to curb them. To stop the visions of her on their wedding night, eager and a bit shy, waiting for him in her chamber, in that very room. Waiting for her husband. He would carry her to his wide bed, and cover her there. There would be trembling, from her and from him, as he made her his. The thought that she might want him… They would not sleep much that night, and he would know that each time, a child might have been started in her. His groin tightened at the thought, and his hands clenched. She would tell him with joy, her face alive with it. "Congratulations, Zuko, you're going to be a father," she would say, and he would cradle her as they whispered… He struggled to hear her in his mind, hear the three simple, deceptive words, but he could not. From her lips he could not hear it. Not even in his mind. His stomach turned, and he pushed himself to his feet.

It had been then he had ordered the desk removed from her room and to the reliquary across the hall. If he could not control himself near her, then he would find another way.

* * *

Part of him wanted to promise that he would return Katara as soon as it was safe to do so. But he considered for a moment. He could not swear to return her to her home. He had no idea what she wanted, or where she wanted to be. But he could promise to help her get there, her and her child. If she decided to stay in the Fire Nation, if she found the man she had come to look for… Perhaps he wouldn't see her often, or perhaps he would learn to live with it. He would learn. Sleepless nights were nothing. Somewhere, there was someone. He could not claim to have found her. In his mind he saw the curve of her ear as he tucked back a lock of hair. She may have found hers. And she was lucky for it. He would be happy. For Adara.

He winced. He regretted naming the child. If giving something a name gave it existence, it also made it his. And he could not, definitely not, imagine some nebulous future where there were days filled with first tottering steps, and gap-toothed smiles. And Katara singing sweetly, if not occasionally a little off-key. He shook his head. All this silence was making him maudlin. It was time to return to his work. The Fire Lord was needed now, not the man.

He blinked blearily at his agenda for the morning, but not even that made the words fall into a pattern that made sense. "First item: Discuss need for Fire Lady and heir."

It was a topic that had not come up for some time. And today of all days. He set the paper aside viciously.

"How are… things?"

Zuko glanced up at Sokka, who stood propping up the doorframe. It did not surprise him to see him here. He had been surprised when Sokka hadn't followed him out that morning.

"Nothing's fallen on my head yet. Come on in. We should talk."

Sokka settled into the chair across from him, but did not sit back. Were they adversaries in this? Or some strange sort of allies.

"First off… I need to know. How much danger is she in here?"

"I would say a considerable amount," Zuko said. "We are entirely certain that the attack on her was spurred by her suspected connection to me. Her presence near me obviously doesn't dispel that. But I can also provide her protection. Once the die was cast toward her, there was no undoing it."

"What if I took her home… Is she well enough to travel?"

Zuko's heart clenched, but he considered the question fully. "Physically, I would say yes, she is, in herself. However, the baby… If she were to go into labor during the trip?"

He nodded as Sokka grimaced at the thought.

"Exactly. I am far from an expert on these things, and really have only the healer's and Katara's knowledge to go on. I don't know how long she might have before that kind of a thing is a danger. Then you factor in the weather, and what trauma she's been through and…"

Sokka held up his hands. "I get it, I get it. It's a bad idea."

He did not blame Sokka for being disappointed. If he had been able to find a way to take Katara home that was quick, and would not stress her, he might have been tempted to try it. Some part of him wished he had, before he had begun to wish in some way that she was his. But then, if he were honest with himself, he would still be waiting for her to walk in the door.

* * *

At first it seemed like a challenge. If he put his mind to it, he could stay away. For an hour, two, five, ten. A full day. Somewhere between that one morning, and the time at night of which he was absolutely certain she was asleep, a tiger had taken up residence in his stomach. Only that would explain the searing pains. He had single-handedly gotten more work done in the space of a day than he had in the past two months combined. He had forgotten to eat. His legs, and arms, and neck were cramped from sitting in the same position for so long. Perhaps that was where the gnawing pain came from. He had run the race to escape her, and ended only twenty feet away, sick and miserable.

What made his head feel as if it were strangling, was that the further he ran, she was now able to follow. He had moved his desk across the hall, and he had looked up to see her in the door of the room across the hall. He had nodded at her, staring blankly at grain prices as the door slowly closed. She was checking up on him now, and the healers had started to give him gently chastising looks as they reported to him. She was less willing to listen to them, they said. Perhaps if he told her to behave, or perhaps it was his presence that was making her rebel.

He paused outside her door before he left for sleep. He imagined he could hear her breathing, soft and slow, her fingers curled gently over the edge of the mattress. He had skimmed those knuckles with his fingers as she slept. Now… now she had her brother.

Sleep came tangled and uneasy.

* * *

When he entered the next morning, a cursory visit, he saw the worry in her eyes first, worry that swept him from head to toe from where she had stood. But that faded as she was guided down beside Sokka.

"They said you were working like a demon. Is something wrong?"

"I was catching up on… Getting some work done."

Her lips pressed together and he imagined that it kept her from stating the obvious. She had been worried. It had been the first day since her injury that he had not been there to reassure her as she fell asleep. It was proof that what he had done had not only affected himself. She knew he had other duties, and yet he had made a point to be there. Very nearly promising his presence, imprinting it in her mind until she came to expect it. He had twined himself in her until it was a painful thing to tear apart. He wrenched his eyes from her stomach, from the hand she had rested there.

He nodded at Sokka, who was staring with a peculiar kind of intent. It was a look that had not been in his eyes when he had arrived. What had she said to have put that look in his eyes?

"I should be getting back. There are…things."

He couldn't even lie correctly any more.

"Come back for lunch."

In Sokka's tone there was lightness, something expected from the man. In his eyes was a command. Zuko's eyebrow rose of its own accord. He wasn't sure where this order was coming from, but he saw little reason to challenge it as yet.

"I should have time. I'll see you both then."

He half turned, jerking like a marionette as he turned back to her. He had neglected something, and not a cell in his body would allow him to forget it.

"How are you feeling?"

She searched his face and his jaw tightened. He wanted to touch her, to assure himself of it, to know beyond a shadow of a doubt, as he had until now. Now, he was Fire Lord to his guest, and not friend. Not anything.

"I'm feeling fine," she said, though she frowned slightly as it was said. He wasn't sure if it was for her or for him.

He smiled, awkward on his face in his haste, and left.


	7. Deep and Broken

It could be said that he was a little less than willing to give up on something after having set out to accomplish it. In fact, he could think of several less-kind ways of describing that about him, but decided there was no use insulting himself in the midst of such a situation.

When he had been invited, ordered, to lunch he had expected to find a normal table setting. Instead he found himself sitting cross-legged on a ratty blanket on the floor nearest the windows while the warm spring breezes fled in through the open windows. Across from him sat Sokka and Katara, the latter sitting very demurely with her knees to the side as she leaned against the bed for support.

A picnic. He supposed it was, with little bowls of food and informal plates set out. There were skewers of meat, little vegetables meant to be eaten with the fingers, and a tall and elegant pitcher of juice. She was beaming, had been from the moment he had opened the door until now. Sokka merely looked pleased. If this little deviation from the routine was enough to bring this kind of happiness…

There had been that one waver, when they had sat. He and Sokka had given her a hand in lowering herself to the blanket, and rather than take the close spot near her as Sokka had moved away, he had stepped across the blanket… not so subtly, he imagined, to have a seat facing her.

"Are you enjoying having your brother here?" he asked, deflecting attention from himself as Sokka lowered himself next to her.

"Why wouldn't she?" Sokka asked imperiously, snatching up a meat skewer. "Ouch!"

Sokka rubbed his arm where a hand, quick as lightning, had smacked him. There was a glaring match that was vicious and over nearly before it began. He was fairly sure the loser hadn't been Katara.

"It's always nice to be around family," Katara said, sipping her juice.

A good response, he thought. A polite one. And not one that was any bit against her brother. She was… restless. And Sokka was another hovering presence in her already confined world.

"How about this weather, huh?" Sokka said. "Already hot like this…"

Zuko snorted into his bowl. "Hot? Within a few weeks, this will be nothing. You'll wish there was a breeze in the height of the sun. This is "nice" weather in the Fire Nation. Nice like a cute puppy. For a few weeks each summer we go through the Dragon's Paw. It eats cute puppies as snacks."

Sokka's eyes had widened as he imagined such a thing. Katara merely looked a little ill at the thought. And as usual, Sokka's thoughts came straight out.

"So do you have to wear those heavy old robes even when it gets that hot?"

"Sokka."

"What? Why don't they come up with something better? You're the Fire Lord… Make them let you wear swimming gear or something."

"Of course. It's not about the robes, it's about the respect for the position. And I don't wear them all the time. Only for the most official meetings… so… most of the time. No one wants the Fire Lord dropping dead of heat stroke. And there has been at least one…"

"No way."

"I find ways to get around it. It's not as if anyone can see what I'm wearing under them," Zuko said dryly.

The food in Sokka's mouth barely stayed put at that announcement. Katara looked aghast at her sibling.

"Sokka!"

"What? It's funny! Not that I needed that mental image, but… man, I'll have to tell that joke when I get home…"

Katara's face tightened, and Zuko and Sokka stumbled over each other's words to scramble back from that cliff.

"So…"

"We should…"

"I wish it would rain," Katara interrupted.

"It might," Zuko offered. Not soon, he imagined, if this weather stayed, but it certainly could. He started up at the sky. Clear and blue. Hardly a cloud. No, not even for Katara would it rain soon. He watched their knees bump companionably. He knew what it was to bump knees with her like that, be companionable with her like that.

"Could I go out into it, even if it did?"

"Go out?" the laugh half-tumbled out of him before he stopped it. Oh, he'd put his foot straight into the viper's nest with that response. The balcony off of her room had been fully boarded. These windows only opened because they swung inward, revealing the slatted outside view. The outer doors, that led the conjoined balcony off of his room, were locked.

And yes, her eyes were dark and narrowed as she contemplated her food.

Not even Sokka could lift the conversation after that. It was an awkward silence, but the meal was quick. She accepted his hand as help to stand, but snatched her hand back almost immediately. He wished he hadn't eaten. The food was a heavy burden, and a harsh reminder.

* * *

He found the letter in the midst of his reports, an unassuming bit of parchment of which its only unique feature was its fraying edges. When he flipped it open, the ugly words caught him in the stomach nearly before he had processed just exactly what it meant. "Better the child had died than see a mongrel wear the fire crown."

He did not singe his desk as he pushed away from it, though he would have been surprised as he felt the heat there, in every ridge of his fingertips, under his nails, over his palms. One reason and he could have burned the palace into a great pile of ashes. They had made a mistake, a terrible one, in contacting him. He sealed the letter, and with a note, pressed it into the hands of the guard stationed in the hall. He sent the maid with the guard, to afford him some privacy and turned to the door. This was news he could tell Katara.

He recoiled in shock. The latch would not move. He pushed it, twisted it, but it was firmly locked.

"Katara!" He slapped the flat of his hand against the door, hearing the echo in the room. "Katara, can you hear me?"

His heart was a rapid drumming in his chest as he listened in heightening fear. There! He heard an answering call, and shoved harder at the latch. Every muscle in his shoulders had tightened, and he listened hard.

"Katara, can you get to the door? I need you to open the door."

She shouted back again, this time fainter.

"To hell with this," he muttered, and with little regard for the paneling that framed the door, broke through. His shoulder stung, fingertips skimming the ground as he barely kept himself from taking a hard fall.

She sat directly in front of him, seated in a deep, low-slung padded chair that he had shoved into a corner. He rushed to her, kneeling, touching her flushed, sweaty face, her hands that were braced on the wide arms.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

She shoved his hand away. Her face a cross between petulant and angry. "I can't. get. up," she said, biting her words off as she stared determinedly at his collar.

She couldn't… He took in her appearance, her breathing barely slowed down from a pant, her trembling arms… Terror spurted through him like scalding heat.

"Is it poison? I'll call the healers…No, I sent the maid… I'll…"

"Zuko. ZUKO."

He stopped, a mere moment from racing for the door.

"I'm fine. I'm _pregnant_. The chair is low… and I can't get leverage on the arms. I can't stand up. I just need help getting out of this stupid chair. I'm…"

Mortified, he supplied. Frustrated. A little scared. Each of those emotions flitted across her face. He blinked at her. On her thighs, his fingers dug into his palms as he realized that she was truly all right, and his head bowed, nearly touching the fluent curve of her belly. There was a pause, before cool fingers touched his neck. Her lips touched his hair, and he stayed still, waiting for his composure to return.

He slid his arms around to her lower back, nudging her arms up onto his shoulders.

"Hold on," he said. "And tell me when you're ready."

She tightened her arms. "Okay."

He had a brief vision of losing his balance and tumbling into the chair on top of her, but with a growl of frustration she slowly came upright and they were locked together over the offending seat.

He breathed in the reassuring scent of her as she leaned into him. He could feel the tremble in her, her exertion, her anxiety.

"It's okay," he murmured, pressing his lips to the damp skin of her neck. His lungs flooded as he realized what he had just done. A painful thrill coursed down his body, not unlike biting into something too sweet and feeling it all the way to the jaw. He licked his lips swiftly. If she had not noticed that, then surely his reaction to it had been obvious.

"Calm under pressure?" she asked, her arms not giving any. There was humor in it. He appreciated that.

"You wouldn't be either, in my place."

"You broke the door frame!"

"You were stuck in a chair!"

"I was stuck there for the better part of an hour."

He pushed her back gently. "Why didn't you call for me? I would've come immediately. I would've heard you."

"I had locked the door. If I had called…" She gestured toward the door. "Well, it happened anyway."

"Why was the door locked?"

"I wanted a little control over my environment. That seemed to be the best way to do so. You… made me angry. I didn't anticipate being unable to heave myself back out of the chair."

She still looked a little put out. He gripped her shoulders hard enough to make her eyes flicker to his.

"Don't bar this door against me again."

Her eyebrows rose. "And now what should I say? 'Yes, my lord.'?"

"You have no idea. No idea what kind of danger you faced here. You are safe here… But I need to know that. No locked door is going to guarantee me your safety."

"If you want to be my jailer, that's your choice. I should leave here, soon."

"That's not wise. Your brother and I…"

"My brother does _not _run my life, and neither do you."

"That's obvious, since you showed up here alone and pregnant."

That incensed her. "Go!" She wrenched herself from him.

He hissed out a breath.

"Katara. No, Katara listen. It's my fault. It's always been my fault. The danger you face is because of me. They think you're my mistress, and they want to make sure a waterbender doesn't come near their throne. We got a letter, today. They made a bad assumption, and you were nearly killed for it. Until you can produce a father for your baby and they see there is no danger, your life is worth little outside these walls."

A strange look crossed her face before it left as fast as it had come.

"So your wife would be confined this way?"

"It's not quite the same. A mistress and unborn child… It's a threat. There is the possibility that I might be swayed by you… to put this child, a possible waterbender, at the head of the Fire Nation. And I stayed with you, "confirming" it in action."

"You should have told me."

"I'm sorry. We thought…"

"To protect me, I know. I'm gestating, not broken. And it's not only your fault. Each of us played a part. Not to mention whoever did this, the bigoted, narrow-minded fools who would kill a child because of its mother's identity."

Out of her mouth it sounded harsh, and yet because of her spirit he grinned, and she surprised him by smiling back.

"Would you still want to leave?"

"You must have a chance of finding whoever did this. And this is a safe, controlled environment. Which," she said, lowering herself into a higher, firmer chair with ungainly grace, "is still a jail to my mind. Not to sound ungrateful, but you would not appreciate it either."

"No, I wouldn't. But between the two of us, I saw you covered in blood and I don't… want to imagine that will ever happen again. If I thought I could help you more from a distance, I would."

"Even a guard visits his prisoner. Were you really so busy yesterday?"

She had missed him. She was angry with him, yes, but… she had missed him.

He put a hand to the door frame.

"I'll get something to fix this," he said. "We'll fix it."

It was one thing he could fix.


	8. Never Too Late

He hadn't returned after the incident with the door. He had found wood, a hammer… but he hadn't been able to force himself back to face her. He brooded in his bed, unable to sleep for the thoughts that raced through his mind. He remembered that it had been a joy to watch the happiness spread over her face when he told her that her brother would be arriving soon. He had not told her much in advance of his arrival, not wanting to have to disappoint her if his time estimate turned out to be incorrect. But when he was sure – it was a bright spot to look forward to. But even then, he could see the seed of doubt that had dampened her joy. Sokka's words had confirmed his suspicion and that she was considering that Sokka had not been told. And why? She was extraordinarily fond of her brother. When she had learned of her pregnancy, it seemed natural to him that she would have told someone. If she wasn't married, that was a consideration, but he knew her family. They would never have thought badly of her if they knew her situation. In fact, if she were happy, then they would eventually be happy with her. It was not something he had known personally for long, but he knew when he saw it.

To leave her home, to not tell anyone, especially her brother, confused him. Had she been she trying to hide it? She would have left about the time it would have become difficult to fully hide her condition from her family. Even if he had missed it at first, her family saw her every day. She wouldn't be in fluffy clothing all the time. They would have surely known something was out of the norm.

Which led him back to why she had left. If there was no fear from her family, then she had to have had another reason. The only obvious one he could imagine was that she had not told the father.

He had considered for a moment that some… creature had forced her. He had broken whatever brush had been in his had at the time of that thought. And though it was not out of the realm of possibility, she was hardly the next woman on the street. She would have more likely handed over the well-beaten carcass of anyone who dared try rather than fleeing to the Fire Nation.

If the father wasn't in the South Pole, then it was possible that he was here in the Fire Nation. She had exited the boat early the morning that she had come. She had most of the day in the town before presenting herself. She could have easily found who she was looking for in that amount of time. Why then had she come to him? Had she been rejected? No one had come to inquire after her, not even after news of her injury had been subtly leaked. So perhaps she had not found him after all. He pressed his hands to his temples. Even now the thought destroyed his reason. Hunting down the man and slowly breaking him in pieces was clearly not an option, much as the thought appealed to him in moments like these.

He touched a finger to the tiny handmade booties that they had found tucked in the satchel they had uncovered a few days previous. He had claimed them immediately for safe keeping, he said. He had kept them tucked in an inner pocket since. It meant there was clearly something wrong inside his head, but until he knew… He would return them to her then. They were his talisman of good luck… for her health, and in a fit of irony, his sanity. So tiny, obviously made by her hand, they were proof of her love for her unborn child. And that was a thought that would keep him sane, when even the last of his defenses had snapped. It kept him whole when she looked at him with questions in her eyes, when all he wanted was to touch and comfort her. And he knew he couldn't, not when it only served him. He couldn't continue to be selfish with her, especially not now that she had her brother. He touched the booties again. Not when she had so much else to think about.

She had brought other baby clothes as well, little outfits sewn of heavy cloth, a suit for outside wear, lighter underthings. He was most fascinated by the intricate designs of the baby blanket. Most of it was new, a supple suede dyed a soft blue. On the outside was an embroidered design, in places frayed where it was older, but it had been repaired and kept in general good condition. There were penguins playing on the ice, the moon and sun. The ocean. He imagined it had been used for generations of babies, the old design being transferred to new blankets. In one corner it bore Katara's name, in two others her mother and grandmother. One was empty, for her daughter. Would they remake the blanket, so that Katara's granddaughter would have her own? He imagined Katara helping her daughter fashion a new blanket in anticipation of the newest generation. Mother to daughter, daughter to granddaughter, a circle of connection he could feel as surely as he held the blanket in his hand. She had once been wrapped in this and would wrap her child as well.

As he sank into desperate sleep, he dreamed.

* * *

This time the dream changed. He pressed a kiss to the curve of her shoulder, leaving her snuggled face down into the soft white fur. It was unbearable to leave her. He wanted to lower himself down and press against that tender expanse of skin. But he left her, comfortable in her element. Through the door, he stepped into his own room. From South Pole, to Fire nation. Red and dark and gold, bordered by symbolic fire and guarding dragons. It had taken some time, but he had finally come to feel at home here. He had found his element, though he had searched always for the peace that was often hard to find. He lacked something, he knew he did. He turned, catching sight of a woman in Fire Nation robes. The waving wealth of her hair told him it was Katara. The red was shot in blue, edged in it, dark and complimentary. A blend of fire and water, she smiled at him, touching the necklace at her throat. She bowed, her body curved gently, showing deference to his rank.

The Fire Nation crown, the crown of his mother, gleamed in her hair.

He gasped, woke. He had never seen anyone taking a place beside him before. He slept poorly, his dreams disturbed.

* * *

He was in his makeshift office early, signing his name to documents he had set aside for that numbing task. His free hand did its best to prop his heavy head up in some semblance of alertness. He briefly imagined he was signing something other than his name accidentally, and instead he was writing "clouds" or "raindrops" or "dragons"… He paused in the midst of a stroke before his fantasy became reality.

"So how smart do you have to be to become Fire Lord?"

He merely grunted at Sokka, not lifting his head or his eyes as he signed yet another paper. He figured the question was rhetorical anyway, and the true reason for someone mouthing at him unannounced would be revealed shortly.

That lapse of attention was what caused his snarl of surprise as two hands came from seemingly nowhere and hauled him bodily by his collar and out of his chair.

"Apparently not very smart," Sokka said, frowning, and not perturbed at all by the warning he had to have seen in Zuko's scowling face.

Zuko jerked himself back, straightening his clothes. Someone could be jailed for a very long time for what Sokka had just done, but it seemed petty and small to say it. It was a small, and one-time liberty between friends, just as soon as he figured out why… That it had something to do with Katara, that much was obvious. And he had enough guilt shuffled into his pockets to feel as though he deserved this much at least. He figured Sokka knew better than to push him too far. Then again, it was Sokka…

"What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice forcibly calm.

"My sister is alone over there. Why?"

"Probably because we're both in here."

"Oh, don't give me that. Why aren't _you_ in there? You stayed with her when she was hurt… in her room! I think I should be angry about that. But you took care of her… Why aren't you any more?"

"She's better now. And besides, you're here. She has her family with her."

"Her body's better, sure, but that's not all she needs. You were her emotional support, and you dropped out like a rock. And believe me, if she could trade me for you, she would do it in a heartbeat. Hasn't she been through a lot for you to just dump her like yesterdays garbage?"

"I haven't "dumped" her as you so eloquently put it. I sit here, and I think of her safety, and I worry, and I look for whoever did this to her. I didn't move to a different city. Her door is right there."

"Then go and be with her. Move your ridiculous desk back in there, and do something about it. She wants you there. Be a man. Try and make out with her or something."

That gave Zuko pause. Sokka wasn't just talking about being an emotional rock.

"How could I pursue her like that when she's a shaky step away from not even knowing who she is?"

"You're not pursuing her, you moron. You can practically see her heart in her eyes when she looks at you."

"That's not my child. And no," he said firmly, "that's not the problem. She doesn't know who the father is. She doesn't remember. What if she loved him? What if she remembers and realizes she's been wasting time with me?"

He'd said too much, saw it in the triumph on Sokka's face.

"Is that how love works? And what if the sky turned green?"

"I don't have to listen to you when you're being ridiculous. The outcome of this is larger than me."

"And if she needs you?"

"I'm near her every day!"

"If she needs more?"

"Then she needs to tell me."

But she couldn't, could she? When he pulled away, when he turned away. Yeah, he was afraid. Afraid he would be rejected because of the existence of some imaginary man. He had been beaten up, chewed up, and spit out by the very thought. He had been bested by a man he'd never seen. Not at first, no. He had been living in some imaginary world until she had woken up. But having no answer for this long had given him yet another answer… his own. His defeat, which had eaten at his pride, his hopes, and even his feelings. Even thinking the thought of another man touching her had him hissing at the stabbing pain. But the truth was that imaginary man was not here, and he was. And no one could turn him from Katara's side but Katara, though he had done a wonderful job of that himself.

* * *

He stood inside of her door, a quiet inside of him that he had not found for quite some time. She was curled on her side, a thin white sheet covering her. She looked peaceful, and alone. He must have made a sound as her eyes opened.

"Zuko?"

He stepped out of his shoes, leaving his outer jacket by the door.

"Scoot over," he told her softly, letting his hair down. She half sat up as he slid onto the bed with her. The sheet settled over him as he met her eyes…. What must she think, he wondered. He had words, but they were stopped somewhere inside him. He drank her in, watching her eyes close as he stroked her face.

He kissed her softly, her lips giving and warm. It lasted only a few moments, but needed no more to tell her all that he was thinking. She relaxed, and he with her, moving in tandem to draw close, close to touch, close to feel. Between them, her stomach was cradled against his and the thought of it nearly made him tremble. She would allow him this. She stroked his face, his hair, drawing him close as she tangled a leg with his.

His arm slipped tight around her, until he was close enough to rest the side of his head against hers. Just for a moment, just like this.

"I love you," she whispered.

He pressed his lips to the gentle rise of her shoulder and kept her close.

* * *

Not yet the end! More to come! :)


	9. Out Comes the Sun

The cool, half days of spring took the sudden, and very typical Fire Nation upswing. Within a day, it had been cool enough at night to use a blanket for sleep, and the next, oppressive heat that made even wearing clothes seem too much to handle for those not prepared. But while he had, discreetly, shed a layer, Katara bore the full brunt of the heat. She was flushed with it, annoyed with it. And as he wrung out the cool cloth, he knew he had no idea what kind of misery the sudden heat snap was truly causing her. He had tried to get someone to fan her, but the noise of it seemed had been unacceptable. He could have ordered a servant to do this, yes. But… then again, no, he couldn't have.

He ran the wet cloth down her arm, and heard her sigh in pleasure. He studied her, her face pressed to a cool spot on the mattress, dark eyelashes fanned against her cheeks as she concentrated on the cool, and the wet. He watched beads of moisture run down her neck, the last place he had touched. Her hair was bound back in a rather severe braid, he thought, though pieces of it curled against her face and neck. That was something he had not done for her, lest he tie her lovely hair in knots.

"I'm sorry," she half grunted, sounding at least partially contrite in the process. But when her eyes opened, he saw she was truly sorry. "If I ever write a memoir, no one would believe it. 'How Fire Lord Zuko lowered himself to be my own personal servant while I was fat and cranky.' Ohhh."

She sighed again, as he slid the cloth under her tunic and up the skin of her back.

He didn't bother to contradict her on the "fat and cranky" comment… not because it was true, but because he was a cautious man who enjoyed his current position and she could order him out at any moment. No one would believe him, either, that he had since had his hands… via cloth… on more of her body than he had imagined, and could barely conjure a dirty thought to go with it. Though, he considered, as she made that low, strangled sound again, he wasn't dead.

She reached for the bowl of water, and he gave it to her, curious. With a touch, she froze its contents, and propped her face on the rim as she breathed in the cool air that wafted up from it.

He couldn't help it. The laugh that bubbled up unexpectedly.

One baleful blue eye fixed on him, but he saw her lips curve.

"If I have any say in it, this is never happening over summer again. Every other one will be born in the middle of winter."

"It's a good plan." But how many was she planning to have, he wondered.

"That is if there is another," she groused while pushing up onto an elbow, as if she had heard him. "I feel like a melon someone forgot to eat, till it over-ripened and was about to burst."

He winced at that imagery. And gave her what he hoped was a soothing pat, though their skin all but stuck together in the heat that was slowly fading.

"Will this last much longer?"

"No. It's too early. It will be cool again soon."

"I know I can't get on a ship and sail home… But it's lovely to imagine." She dropped her forehead to the rim of the bowl and inhaled again.

"Wouldn't the cold be hard to manage in a way as well?"

"Sort of, but not quite the same. With the cold, you can build the fire or add a blanket or snuggle… One of my earliest memories is being snuggled between my mom and dad. It was so warm and comforting."

"Do you wish you could go back to those times?"

"Sometimes… But life moves on for all of us. It's little times I wish my mom was still here, when I'm cooking, when I'm smiling. Just a word, a smile… I remember so much, but it fades, but I'll always wish. Always. And with the baby… I wish she was here for this. She would know, so much more than I do."

"I'm s…" He stopped, barely kept himself from yelping when her fingers ground the knuckles of his hand together.

"It wasn't you. And you're here… And I'm glad you are."

"Me too."

Had he kissed her today? He wondered. No, he didn't think so. He had spent a restful night supporting her back, until the heat had driven him from her. He imagined she might attempt to bite him if he tried now. She shivered and licked her lips, and he felt a surge of affection. He could, he thought, tonight. When the air cooled, and the room breathed again. He had barely tasted her, but he knew he wanted to again. To spend long minutes on the sweetness of her mouth, the feel of her neck, her ears, her hair. And were he honest, he wanted to feel the heavy fullness of her breasts. He was not a monk, and she was Katara, desirable, pregnant and not. He rested a hand briefly on the curve of her stomach, feeling the baby moving. It gave him a thought.

"Was it easy for you… before you got here?"

She allowed the ice to sink back into water so he could wet the cloth as she contemplated his question.

"I was sick for a while," she said, resting her head on the rim of the bowl. "Not often was I ever really ill, but it made eating a little difficult for a while."

"Is that…normal?"

She smiled, cooed at coolness of the cloth.

"Normal enough. It seemed to be gone as soon as it came. After that, it was… nice. Though I slept more, ate a little more."

"Hard work, making a baby."

She laughed, low and soft.

"Yes, it is. And then my legs felt like they were attached with string, and I couldn't even get my weight forward enough to stand up out of a deep chair. It was hard at first, staring at that little bump and imagining something alive was being made… It didn't stay hard. Not when I could see myself growing, too. I consider that sometimes… I can't decide whether I most resemble a walrus-seal or a hippo-cow."

"You look like Katara."

Her lips curved, and he mentally cursed himself. Was it really so difficult to say? Could he not wrench it from his mouth? He risked touching her, his fingers cool from the water as he cupped her cheek. He waited, holding his breath until she had lifted those eyes, blue and serious, though no longer miserable, to his.

"And I think you are very beautiful."

He watched her mouth tremble open, and her lashes fell, not quite holding back the glimmer that had appeared.

"Hormones," she muttered, as he wiped away the offending tears. "But that is a precious gift. I don't want to argue."

She grinned wickedly and giggled as he pressed feather light kisses against her cheek.

The sun had begun to recede, and a breeze, a breath, entered the room and cooled them both. She sighed, and in exhausted relief he let his head rest against the mattress. Her fingers combed through his hair, lulling him.

"She'll know your voice almost as well as she'll know mine," Katara whispered. He wasn't sure he'd heard her right, at first. But he was glad his eyes were closed, so that she couldn't see what her gift had done to him as well.

* * *

There were lists, he was sure, of what made a good candidate for Fire Lady. Foremost would be breeding, the status of a girl's family, her contribution to the legitimacy of the monarchy. Next would be looks… or would that be temperament? He wasn't sure. Temperament, he decided, as the ability to deal with daily trials would be infinitely more important than the shape of her nose. But looks were not all unimportant. The flame to his fire, what men would admire and want to protect, and women would look up to and envy… Every little girl, so he had been told, dreamed of being chosen by the Fire Lord. Passing on the power of fire to the next generation.

The royal family had dwindled, he mused. There were distant cousins, somewhere. He would not mind so very much if his family numbered two or three… Those were good numbers.. And though power was a great seductress, he could only hope that his guidance would keep what had happened between his uncle and his father from happening again.

To choose a wife from another nation… It was almost unthinkable. For some, it might border on treason. For a former prince whose reputation and the question of it was worn quite obviously on his face, it would be laughing in the face of years of tradition. Not to mention, putting in jeopardy the ability to bend fire… Those bloodlines, the bending bloodlines, from which the highest marriages came, were important. Bending was never foreknown, and there had been marriages to non-benders, but if their sister, their father, their uncle were benders… Well, there were no guarantees in life. But to marry a bender of a completely different element… He nearly sputtered as he imagined the look on the face of the court historian.

At a very fundamental level, bending was bending. It was what made the Avatar so special, in the mastery of the elements and their opposites. It came from a specific place. A child was born with it, or they weren't. If he had to take a guess, the child of two masters would not be born with canceled power. With Katara, his children that could bend would bend fire or water. And he knew it almost beyond a doubt. They were not defying their elements, they were celebrating them. Yin to his yang, she would create balance, not only in his life, but in him. And just because there was one way things had been done, it didn't mean that that was how it always had to be.

The same look he had imagined did no good to the face of the historian when he introduced the thought.

"Are you implying that you think I'm incapable of siring a firebending child out of _any_ woman?"

The man considered his words carefully, and with good reason. What he said would have been precursor to a quick punishment from many rulers.

"My apologies, sir. But you just are a man, albeit a powerful one. She is not just a woman on the street. She is your opposite. Fire does not thrive in water. I caution you to think carefully on this.

"I have considered it. In great detail."

"Surely you would not set a waterbender at the head of the Fire Nation."

"Perhaps not. But it will be my child. And if it is my child, if there is to be any child, then I will choose their mother. How much good will would such a match garner?"

The man's mouth thinned. "You feel sorry for the young woman, I understand. She is your… friend. But can you not show her your support in… another way?

"Yes, I could. But I choose to show it in this way. Consult your lackeys and draw up your forms. Assure the nation a waterbender will not rule them. If there is not already a law in place, I would be surprised."

"You expect the people to be happy about this?"

"Maybe not right away. But they'll learn. And they'd have time to, because she'd be my wife for a very long time."

He watched the historian, affable now that he saw Zuko's mind was set, collect his implements and leave.

There had been many dawns during his reign so far. But perhaps not so many more that he would need face alone.


	10. Dream of You

He would look up to find her deeply asleep when the baby was not moving. At other times, during the night, during a nap when he would abandon his returned desk to lay with her, the baby was far too active for anything resembling a good sleep.

"Sleep," he intoned at her stomach, and felt Katara laugh as the baby, in defiance of his order, do… whatever it was that babies did. Surely by now it was a little cramped in there?

He read to her, long passages that he was grateful for in the times they couldn't sleep, when the would discuss triumphs and tragedies of fictional people. Though he had avoided the tragedies like a room of sick people since the last one, when he had looked up from one particularly emotional scene to find her silently weeping. It made him all squeamish inside to remember it. She had said something… how it was horrible and beautiful at the same time. He imagined it would take a greater bit of a decade to understand.

He watched her with anxious eyes as she paced, her hands worryingly on her back.

"Keep reading," she said. "I'm just restless. Just want to keep the blood moving."

A sudden thought struck him.

"Where do babies sleep in the South Pole? It's so…cold," he finished lamely.

"With their mother," she said, her walk a little brisker. "In a well made home, a baby could sleep without her mother near for warmth, but it's more convenient… if the baby is crying, or hungry, or needs cleaning."

"Ah." Well, that made sense. He was confident that they could supply her with whatever she needed when the baby was born. But he still wondered if there was something vital he had forgotten.

He wondered how long he would need before he was fully able, all the time, to look at her and know that inside her was a growing child that would one day be even more real. Inside her was a strange tangle of things that gave life…Her body was uniquely formed, so that just such a thing of this was possible. He certainly lacked that mysterious exit from which babies emerged all pre-formed and wailing. He was able to conjure fire… but this… this was a different sort of amazement entirely. It was the subject of many hours of contemplation, some spent with his head resting on some part of her side, her ribs, her waist, her hip. Foremost in his mind was the ability to be near her, to breathe her in. But there, there was the evidence of someone new. They did not speak of what would happen after the birth. There was a certain amount of denial that lived in him that the birth would ever occur. That was the climax of this particular story, and he was not sure he was ready. Babies did not get delivered in baskets. Somehow, that little person had to make its way from in there, and out here. As she had said, she needed some sort of stamina to make it through labor. And should he maintain consciousness, or succeed in not calling the whole thing a wash and declaring she'd just have to be pregnant forever, he was going to have to find some of that stamina as well. Since he had promised her.

"If you can, will you stay with me when she's being born?" she had asked, her face close to his as they sat together at the low slung table.

He had chewed whatever bite of dinner that had wended its way to his mouth as his mind went in two rather distinct directions at once: abject terror, and leaping joy. She wanted him there, and oh sprits, she wanted him _there_. That little "if you can" was her deference to the possibility that something greater or more disastrous than one small life might appear and require his immediate handling. He kissed her for that, and she hummed, a little formless tune of appreciation. Every time he thought he was completely insane for the thought of making her his wife, for her own sake, she said something that made him absolutely certain he could never send her back to the South Pole without living there part of the year himself.

"If you want me there, I'll be there."

And for that, she had kissed him.

He smiled from his current position, his head resting lightly at the juncture of her waist and ribs, her forearm a delicate scarf over his neck. He wished he could make this gentle time go on forever, he and Katara and the nebulous child, bound together in this room where she was safe, and the world so rarely intruded. Except, he conceded, her brother. Who was a nice deviation, he supposed, to the routine and the routine they could hardly discuss, as they were so hyper aware of it. He had woken from a doze more than once, his nose pressed to the back of Katara's neck, to find Sokka there. He had merely closed his eyes. He knew his place now. And he was in it.

Sokka had, as he could, complained that when he went to hug his sister, he had to avoid hugging Zuko to do it. Katara told him later that the smirk on his face hadn't been very nice.

* * *

"What do you want in your life?" she asked as they sat, knees barely touching beneath the table as the tea cooled.

"Besides shooting lightning out of my fingertips, ruling a nation, and having everyone claim the words from my mouth are true and wise? What else could a little boy wish for?"

She raised an eyebrow. He was being glib, and the situation far from called for it.

"Of course a family was something I always expected. Less ideally, just an heir. Plenty of fire lords before more passed on their thrones without a family."

"Do you think you can have both?"

"How much can one person expect in life?"

Where had that come from? Amidst all this hope, sitting here across form him even, he could be this jaded. Could he even offer her enough to satisfy her? Could he make her happy? What he hoped for, and what he expected were growing farther apart. He gritted his teeth, and shoved down the pessimism that threatened to engulf him. She was here now. She was his. For now.

"Is Sokka excited about being an uncle?"

"He wants to teach her to boat," she said, a tiny chuckle escaping even as she watched him. "We discussed the need for her to walk first."

To boat. In the ice. Far away from here. She might as well have kicked him instead. And yet, Sokka could still teach the child. A visit, nothing more, to the land of her heritage. She could still do that, even living here. The things he wanted to teach… It was too much now to consider where that Katara might choose to go. He could ask, get a feel for her desires, but… No, he was still too much of a coward to ask her now.

He stood, and his fingers brushed the booties that he still carried with him.

He struggled with himself for a moment. Should he give them back? It was silly, a grown man feeling possessive over such a thing. Perhaps… Perhaps now they would bring him luck. She deserved to know they were safe. He gripped them tightly, unfolding his hand slowly as he showed her what he had found.

"Zuko," she said, staring from the booties to his face.

He offered them, but she did not move to take them.

"They're inside out," she said softly.

His eyes focused from hers to his hands. He slid his thumbs into the soft wool, tucking it into itself to turn it right side out. The red lining, for the baby's unknown Fire Nation father he assumed, disappeared, fading into a soft blue weave. He smiled. Her colors. He felt small ridges on the soles of the booties. He tilted it to make out the lines and curves.

Zuko. It read Zuko.

He realized that when she had said his name before, she had not really just been saying it. She had been remembering what she had sewn onto the wool.

He saw rather than felt her arms slip around his numb body. Nothing in this moment was real, he thought. Not the sweet press of her lips, not the hammer of his heart. If he stood there, silent and still, the world would right itself for him in a moment, and they would be standing there, just two people in a strange situation.

"I…" He pulled her arms down from around him, gripping her wrists tightly as he struggled to speak. He could not look at her face.

"I'll be right back."

In reality he walked, but in his mind he ran, dashing to catch up with his thoughts that would not stop, not a moment. He nodded to the guard and veered sharply into a hall. He needed outside. He needed air.

He remembered ever so vaguely the murmured conversations between her and the healers, discussing dates and figures. He remembered her quiet insistence… what had it been? That the child had been conceived before the equinox.

He paced the garden faster. The child had been conceived before the equinox. He had left the day of the equinox. He had stood on the ship and watched a group of people wave goodbye. Katara had not been among that group. He had said his goodbyes to her earlier, in the privacy of her home. She had been quiet, almost reserved, as if she were waiting for him to speak. And he did speak, of the weather, of the tide that was rapidly coming to a change. He invited her to his damn birthday party, while she watched his face with an amount of expectation that was uncharacteristic even of Katara. He had given it little thought at the time, his head still clamoring from a night he had thought ill spent.

In the dream, she had wriggled her way over him, skin like honey as she pressed to him in all right places. Just a little tentative, he pondered, as she had parted his lips with hers. Just a bit, until he had touched the tip of his tongue to hers. He felt the shudder sweep down her body like a wave. There had been little for him to do but lay back, transfixed by her mouth, her hands. Until he could take it no longer, his hands bracketing her wrists as he trapped her, willing and warm, beneath him.

And in a moment, all the details of his dream, the curves and plains of her naked body, the taste of her, the grip of her hands, the feel of the fur between his fingers as he lost himself in her, fell into him with a startling realization. And yet, was it possible that it had been not a dream or a vision, but a memory?

The proof of it was in the stitching on the bottom of a tiny bootie.

They had seduced each other, against the white furs of her bed in her father's home. He had wanted her. From the moment he had stepped off the ship, from the moment it sailed away, he had her lodged in his mind, and for a great deal of time after. And when it had been reality, he thought it had been a dream. A hazy, alcohol-induced dream that had given him two things that he had never expected. She had come to tell him. She had come to share with him. She loved him.

Adara was his.

* * *

This time, he did run, past the guard, down the hall to the half open door. First his mind had been exploding, so much, too much. Now it was too focused. He had something to tell Katara. He had something to ask her. Part of him laughed with it.

He stopped short, scanned quickly. She wasn't there. He checked behind the bed, the chairs, the window. Nor was she in the baths, or his room, or the reliquary.

His heart took a quick, and rapid turn in his chest.

"Where is she?" he demanded of the guard. "Where's Katara? She's not in her room."

"Sir? No one came out."

Zuko paused. Something was missing. "Did someone go _in_?"

"She brought your ring! You said not without your ring." The guard's face had started to take on a ghastly shade. Zuko raised his hand where the ring in question still rested.

If they had not come out this way, then they had gone somewhere below. There were escape routes, if one knew how, to find a way into the depths, and even to the outside. Routes long barred since his mother had gone, that had been deliberately and carefully blocked. It was on a to-do list somewhere, to free up those passages, but he knew for certain that they were still unusable, since he had not yet wed. Unless someone had been prepared.

In her room, yes, the rug had been bent back, just a little. And the hidden tunnel that led straight down had been cleared. He raced down the steps, mindful only of the stones under his feet.

They had been prepared, as they had already tried to kill the child of the waterbender because it might be his. Only this time, he knew it was.

* * *

To be concluded...


	11. Consuming Fire

The final door to the outside stood open, and he pressed outside it, to the shadowed upper area of a small, decorative wood that was ringed in growing shadows.

He heard Katara's muffled voice before a familiar voice began to respond.

"…what you think, I never meant to hurt you, Katara. Sure, I gave you that tonic so you would miscarry, but it's not like it was going to kill you. You could've returned to the South Pole and found a nice, safe man and had more babies with him. I just couldn't let you have Zuko's."

"Then what do you plan to do now?"

"Unless I'm mistaken, and I'm not, you're in labor. Unfortunately," Ty Lee said, her voice dripping with sadness. No, not Ty Lee. That was not her voice. One of her sisters. "I can't let you keep the baby. Not even if you promised me to return to the South Pole and never speak of it. Zuko is a man, but even he might get a clue eventually, if the baby was a firebender or happened to have his eyes. You couldn't have chosen anyone else to get you pregnant? It had to be the Fire Lord?"

"I didn't choose anyone," Katara said. He kept his eyes focused on them as he moved silently down the near steps. "You told me Zuko had sent for me."

"But you got pregnant anyway, which is as good as a choice. Don't worry, though, I won't kill the baby if I don't have to. I'll see it has good parents somewhere you'll never have to worry about."

"Don't do this. This is Zuko's daughter. You can't take her…"

"Be quiet, okay! Just go over there and have the kid already!"

She gave Katara a shove, and his heart skipped as he watched Katara stumble.

"No!" Zuko's shout carried over the short distance between them as he watched Katara right herself and turn, moving toward him. He heard the roar, felt the heat, as a fireball swept behind her, knocking her into him and sending them both to the ground.

He stared in fascinated horror at Ty Lee's sister's body, still beneath the tree where the force of the fire had thrown her. His eyes scanned the area that the blast of fire had come from. Their enemy had grown by one.

"Over the years the families have become weak, Fire Lord. Once upon a time, protecting the crown was the greatest honor. But this child could not even carry out a simple assassination. Neither mother nor child was supposed to survive the poisoning. A tragic end to an ill-timed visit. Her family would grieve, and the Fire Nation would be contrite. The dangers of consorting with royalty."

Zuko struggled to put a face to the voice.

"It was her family's duty, you know, to protect the royal family from ill-claimed bastards and the irresponsible and self-serving blunders of the Fire Lords. Of course it was the men who trained for this, not sentimental girls who wish only to carry little acts of treason off to a better life. But they failed to have sons, and on the generation where the transgressions were the worst. One does what one can with what is available. Pity."

The gray-bearded form of the court historian stepped from behind the rocks.

"You!"

"And who else? I have seen years of tradition and scandal in the annals of history, and this… This caps them all. I wouldn't want my successor to see such a blemish on the great history of the Fire Nation."

Zuko spied Katara's arm come up around her stomach. Good, she was recovering while the man spouted nonsense.

"And you would kill…"

"Your daughter? Your whore? Yes. A son might have been harder to rationalize, once I knew the gender. It might have warranted waiting. But no life is worth more than the pride of the Fire Nation. I tried to help you see that. You are a man, and swayed by a willing body, so my issue is not with you, though I hope that you will choose better next time. And not something like this. Perhaps your taste will be…refined."

Katara's breath hissed through her teeth at this, and he stared as liquid pooled on the earth beneath her. Not now! His mind shouted.

"Leave now," the historian said, his voice silky and persuasive. "I will dispatch them as quickly as possible. There will be little pain. We will find you girls, a new one every night if you wish, all beautiful and willing. You can do anything you wish to them, while we find you a worthy wife. Wouldn't that be better?"

Zuko rid himself of his hindering robes, dressed sleekly beneath, ready to fight.

"Do you expect me to be able to walk away?"

"No," the man said sadly. "Your stubbornness is well known. And I know my price for the nation will be to take my own life, once she is dead. It is worth it, even if it means attacking my own ruler in order to correct the balance!"

He deflected the fire in the only way he knew how, watching it race on either side of them in high, roaring sheets. The flame grew hotter, even as he sent his own tendrils out through it, and the roar receded, muffled as a thick bubble of water enveloped them. She was panting, her face contorted in concentration and pain as she held the bubble, cooled it so that it didn't boil out from around them. He met her eyes with determination and waited. The historian could not hold up this level of flame for long. And he intended to be ready.

The ground around their protected circle was scorched, smoking.

"Can you protect yourself?" he asked.

She accepted his hands and got unsteadily to her feet.

"Yes. Go."

He ran, gathering her belief in him around him like armor, as the fire welled, burned, bright as his anger, bright as his determination.

The fire lived, as the dragons had… Sweat dripped into his eyes and he ignored it, concentrating instead on the rush of power, the tingle, the unnamable pleasure/pain that came with the creation of it.

He used it, sweeping his arm to control it, bending it to his will as he erased from his mind the urge to kill and to focus instead on drawing attention and to disable the man threatening to take away everything he had just found. He imagined himself a great wall, standing between the historian and Katara. He would sooner die than let this man touch her. Or her child.

The fire swelled as it moved streaking in lines and globs as it reached for the historian. He had youth on his side, practice.

The historian was tiring.

A fire bomb knocked the historian off his balance, and the next, and the next. The fire exploded back at him, and he leaped from it, staying clear of moving from Katara. He could not spare her a glance. He knew she could protect herself from fire, if any broke through. He grinned as he stopped, bent, and sent a storm of fire – they made a good team.

He felt the tremble of the earth before the rushing sound reached his ears. Both he and the historian saw at the same moment, the deluge that threatened – water, a spinning vortex of it. Now, he saw Katara, rising up some like some sea goddess and directing it at the both of them. The historian's face registered fear, not at the water – they could move from it, but the great fire whips that Zuko had swept at him. From that, there was no escape.

The water swirled away, fading into the earth. Bits of fire still burned and it hissed as the water fell on it.

Zuko stood straight, wiping his cheeks and noticing that he was bleeding from the last fall. From this defeat the historian would not be getting up lightly. He bound the man's feet and hands with strips of ruined clothing. He stood, the rage still there, but abated for the moment. The battle victory shimmered in him, and here, now, he looked for Katara. He moved before he processed it, seeing her on her hands and knees, her fingers curling into the ground, moans wracking her.

He dropped beside her, her hand gently on her shoulder.

"Let me get you back to the palace. We can be there…"

She shook her head vigorously.

"I can't. It's too close. Too close."

His hands were trembling as he helped her to sit back against the nearest tree, and gathered her close briefly.

His words tumbled out of him.

"You'll be far away from your family, and the ice. You can visit though, as much as you are able. I'll go with you, if I can, because I don't know how long I could send you from me. She… the baby would need to know the other part, of her, always. If you stay… If you stay with me, be my wife…"

He waited, moving back, gripping her hands and breathing with her more out of fear than any knowledge as another contraction gripped her. He touched her chin, met her eyes as his very foundations trembled.

"Please stay, Katara. I love you."

Tears streamed down her face as they considered each other, and he felt her sob.

"It'll be hard, and it won't always be easy, but we can help each other… Please don't hate me," he begged, his face close to hers.

"No matter how hard it is, Zuko… I couldn't hate you. I can make my place with you. Together…" she smiled, grimaced. "I love you too, damn it, but she's coming right now."

Right now was a slight overestimation as he scooted back, his dark inner robe near to clean the child. His abdomen clenched and ached with her. He had no idea how she could be this strong. He had no idea. Nothing had prepared him for this. He was supposed to be an ornament. He had expected legion of healers and helpers. There were none, as a tiny, squirming life was born into his hands. For a brief, panicked moment he was afraid she would squirm right away from him, before he slid her gently onto Katara's stomach, a wail sent up at the cold, the shock as he gently wiped and cleaned. Katara was laughing, gasping for breath at the same time as the touched the tiny head, and waving arms. Somehow, together, they managed to cut and tie the cord. He was grateful for Katara's head, as he seemed only capable of staring at the tiny little creature. With something like reverence, he held out his arms as Katara placed the child in them, and he wrapped her in her birthing blanket, albeit a bit makeshift. It was his outermost robe, the most fine, red and gold, as was befitting the daughter of the Fire Lord. He had a daughter. He was a father.

There was a commotion as she ate her first meal, as Sokka and Iroh and a swarm of others found them. They managed to direct the chaos, but both the new uncle and great-uncle gathered as close as they deemed safe to coo at the child. She was dark haired, no surprise, and they would see what color her eyes became. He gripped Katara's hand, and she smiled.

The clapped him on the back as he stood, followed as he went with Katara as they were all taken back inside. He was following his wife. They had exchanged words, and for this moment that was enough.

* * *

"Rise and bow for Fire Lord Zuko," the man's voice said, carrying over the throng of people. "And for the Fire Nation's new lady, the Lady Katara." At that there was a slight murmur through the crowd. "And for their daughter, the Princess Adara."

Zuko felt a chill sweep down his spine as he looked from his daughter to the tired, smiling eyes of his wife. They had not discussed this. He had never told…

"When I was asleep… It's one of the few things I remember. I could hear your voice. You named her."

"Yes. I was tired of calling her "it.""

She laughed softly, careful not to jostle the child. "What does it mean?"

"Fire."

"But you didn't know."

"She was part of you. And I knew you would name her for what she was. I never thought she would be a firebender…"

He watched his daughter's hand curl around his wife's offered, slender finger.

"But she might be."

"She might be," Katara agreed.

He pondered her quietly, in the moments they had. The lighter streaks of her hair gleamed next to the gold flame adorning her hair. Would it be easy, this? Hardly. But he hadn't seen anything in life that was. Each path had its own hardships.

Impossible? He snorted softly. What could be more impossible than her agreeing to be his wife?

Her eyebrows rose in question and he shook his head and gently squeezed her shoulder. All was fine. A hush had fallen. He looked out over his people, his city.

And the sun rose on the face of the baby Adara, out of water born of fire, nestled in the arms of her mother. No one could foresee on this day what was in her future. How as princess she would find herself, standing proud next to her brothers, she of fire who would one day inherit her father's crown.

* * *

_"Love has no uttermost, as the stars have no number and the sea no rest." __Eleanor Farjeon_

* * *

Notes:

* * *

My enduring thanks to each of you for your support as we travelled our way down the path of this story. It was my pleasure to join you on the ride… though I occasionally thought the story was driving me, instead of the other way around! It means a lot to me that it is up and done. I'll definitely miss it. Here's hoping that the other ideas pinned to my clipboard go just as well.

Again, can't thank you all enough.


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